


Hero Of Kvatch

by Saenorel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Adventure, Betrayal, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Fighters Guild, Heroism, Redemption, Romance, Thieves Guild, main quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saenorel/pseuds/Saenorel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sarasamacial, a woman birthed in ice, raised in shadow, and freed with fire–that is me. I've served champions and criminals, befriended sovereigns and beggars. Yet as dark falls and Tamriel founders, I fear. She calls for a hero, but I have never been one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Likes Your Fetid Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for taking a look at "Hero of Kvatch"! Before we begin, there are a couple things you should know:
> 
> This fanfiction documents the events of the Oblivion Crisis through the eyes of Sarasamacial, a Bosmer with a red past who is trying to turn around her life. There are SPOILERS for the MAIN QUEST, THIEVES GUILD, FIGHTERS GUILD, and DARK BROTHERHOOD. I shout this at you only because I know how much I hate for endings to be spoiled for me (and I'm often a couple years behind the times, so I often come across spoilers), so I wanted to give you fair warning. When it comes down to it, you really shouldn't read this fanfiction if you want anything in pre-expansion packs Oblivion to be a surprise. 
> 
> In any case, I had (and am having) great fun writing this fic, so I hope you all enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm innocent. No, seriously. I've never done anything illegal in my life! (I've never utilized sarcasm, either.)"

They threw me in with rough hands. The cold stones of the cell rose up to bite me, and their hard bones forced the air from my lungs with a groan as my head cracked against them. I remained there, dazed, for a few moments until I heard the sound of the iron gate of the prison cell clang shut behind me, and a wave of panic rushed through me. I quelled it and lifted my head, spitting out the blood from my wounded mouth as I began to rise.

“Stay quiet here, thief, and there’ll be no trouble,” said the Imperial just beyond the bars — my jailor — his voice thick with contempt. “They’ll feed you before the day’s out.”

“Wait,” I said around the blood. “I’m innocent.” There was a disgusted huff, and then he turned and began to stride away with the sound of jangling keys and armoured footsteps. I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled to the bars. “Wait!” I cried again, grasping them with my calloused, delicate hands. “You have no right to put me in here! I’m innocent! Innocent!” My jailor did not reply. Brittle laughter rose up from the cell across from mine, and I tore my green, Bosmeri eyes from the retreating Imperial to set them on the Dunmer lounging against the far wall of his cage.

"Well now, a pretty little Wood Elf. You're a little far from the forest, huh?" His voice grated like rusted iron. "Looks like your days of woodland frolicking have come to a tragic end. To go from gladed realm of Valenwood to a rat-infested hole like this… how very sad."

He looked to me anything but sad, flashing me a yellow-toothed grin at which I scowled in return. I ignored him and looked to the bars beneath my hands, giving them a shake to ascertain their strength, more out of habit than actual hope. They rattled, but held firm. With a frustrated sigh, I turned away. The bleak, barrenness of the cell greeted me. The Dunmer laughed again.

Through the tiny, barred window on the far wall, sunlight streamed in brilliantly. It was late afternoon outside, but no later than the fourth hour — my capture and arrest had been pitifully brief. To my right, on the longer, eastern wall, there was set a rough wooden table with a clay pitcher and small mug, with a low stool to match. I stood at the top of two worn, uneven stairs. There was a pile of straw in the far right corner — for bedding or refuse I wasn't sure — and to my left, manacles bolted into the wall. In the dim light of the flickering torches outside my cell, they glistened dully with the rust coloured remains of old blood. There were bones beneath it. I swallowed, and then scowled at my fear.

"Those walls must feel like they're closing in on you, eh Wood Elf?" I glanced back at the Dunmer. He had his hands curled around the bars of his prison now, his face pressed up against the cold iron as he watched me.

"Shut your mouth, Dunmer," I said. "No one wants to smell your fetid breath."

He gave a cackle.

"Oh, I doubt you can smell me from there, Wood Elf, at least not over your own fear. Ever been in the Imperial Prison before?"

I sneered and turned away, lining the backs of my heals up against the bars of the gate.

"I make it a habit to avoid incarceration as much as possible," I replied. Despite my less than legitimate past, I had managed to evade most of the prisons in Cyrodiil. Even when I had been marked for a cell, I'd been able to pay off the guards — or have one of my associates in the Thieves Guild do it for me. It was just my luck to be caught in the final act of giving up my shady lifestyle and thrown into prison when I had neither lockpicks nor Septims on my side.  
Stepping forward from the gate, I counted off the paces it took to cross the room: ten. Ten paces. I repeated the process, only this time going across my cell. Five. A ten by five room to spend the rest of my life in. Theft, embezzlement, forgery, pickpocketing, counterfeiting, burglary, conspiracy to commit theft, grand larceny, tax evasion, slander, fraud, perfidy, and impertinence, those were my crimes. Alone, they would not be enough to sentence me for a lifetime, but coupled with my possession of the recognizable grey cowl of the Grey Fox and the Imperial Watch's suspicion of my involvement in illicit activities… if the Guild didn't come or couldn't get me out, it was indeed a small home and grave.

"I'm going to enjoy this. Watching you go mad, that is," the Dunmer said, breaking into my thoughts. I turned to look at him, my eyes narrowed in dislike. "Soon you'll be screaming and ranting and begging, and the guards will come and cut your throat just to get some peace and quiet." His voice began to rise. "You think you're safe in here? You think you'll ever get out? Wrong. You're going to die here, Wood Elf! Die!"

I stared at him a moment, willing my anger and annoyance to fall in check.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, here," I said, offering a somewhat strained smile. "So Let's start again. You stay quiet, and when I escape I don't take a detour to give you a second mouth like you think the guards will give me."

The Dunmer cackled.

"'When you escape', that's rich!" He gave another laugh. "You'll never escape the Imperial Prison. You're here for life." He paused to flash me his yellow toothed grin. "Although, one of the guards owes me a favour, you know. I could get us put in the same cell. A life in prison doesn't have to be such a bad thing. We could have some fun. And since you're in the business of giving people mouths…" He made a crude gesture towards his groin.

"Disgusting," I said, repulsed, and turned away from him. He continued to snigger away from behind his bars. I ignored him, giving the cell my attention once more. Nothing. With a sigh I moved to the table and settled myself on the stool, resigning myself to a long wait.

 

 

 

I stood in darkness, and he stared at me.

"You have failed again," he said, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile that never reached his eyes. "Were you always this negligent, dear Sister?"

"And what would you have me do?" I questioned in a voice thick with guilt and anger. I shuddered and struggled to hold down the growing lump in my throat. "I can't change what has happened. I can only live with it. There's no place for you in my life anymore. Stop haunting me."

The cruel smile on his face grew wider, and dark amusement flashed in his eyes as he took a step towards me. The black, hooded robes enshrouding him billowed around his feet, writhing and reaching for me like living things. I shrank away.

"You know what you must do," he said. "Sithis calls you, Aranwen. He calls for the blood of my murderers. Will you not give it to him, our dread father?"

"No," I answered. "I'm not Aranwen anymore. I have no father."

"You are no-one."

"Better to be no-one than a murderer."

"But you are a murderer, No-One." The twisting shadows of his robes lunged for me, wrapping around my legs and forcing me to my knees. I cried out and broke my fall with my hands, realizing with horror that it wasn't his robes that gripped me, but cold, rotting fingers. Faces appeared beneath me, beneath the darkness that rippled like dark water, and I recognized them. How could I not? I'd murdered them at Water's Edge not long ago.

I sucked in a breath and tried to break free. _No, not this! I never wanted this!_

"Never kill anyone on the job. This isn't the Dark Brotherhood." I looked up at the robed man only to realize I had been wrong. The darkness covering his face was not a hood, but a cowl, his dark robes only shadowed leather armour.

"I didn't, I never wanted—"

"We are thieves," the man said forcibly, cutting me off. "But we're not murderers. Why kill them?"

I choked back a frustrated sob, struggling against my undead keepers as they coiled stinking fingers around my arms and bound me tighter still.

"Please," I begged as decaying arms encircled my waist. "Please believe me. I never wanted to. I never meant to!" More figures were rising from the darkness beneath me, all rotting, all staring at me accusingly out of dead eyes. "Please, Corvus. Please!" The mouth beneath the cowl frowned.

"I am not Corvus," it said, and then a hand lifted to remove the cowl. I gave a wail, cringing away, not wanting to see the face in front of me. It knelt down before me, took my chin in delicate fingers, and forced me to meet its eyes. My eyes. My face. The creature behind the mask was me.

"You can never escape me," the other me said, a cruel smile on her face, her eyes cold. "I am always with you, always waiting to finish the work you've deserted. There is no escape from the grasp of Sithis. One day you will learn this and find joy."

"No! Not again! Never!" I cried, despairing defiance rising within me.

"No?" The other me cocked her head to the side, studying me like a curious child. "Then what is this, I wonder?" She gestured to the bodies around me, and then they rose with cries like tearing metal and crashed down upon me, beating and biting and suffocating me, until all turned to black.


	2. Sign of the Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I always forget humans grow so frail so quickly. I don't want them to die. They're beautiful."

I awoke with a start, my eyes flashing from place to place as I tried to discern my situation. I bumped the table I sat at with my knee, nearly knocking the pitcher on it over and catching it only out of reflex. Memory returned: the Imperial Prison. I'd fallen asleep at the table, bored beyond endurance. The darkness had only been a nightmare. Not real.

I took in a breath and willed my body to relax, forcing my hands to stop itching to grasp the bow that was no longer there, confiscated by the Watch as it was. Voices, tense and quiet, drifted to me out of the darkness of the hallway. I frowned at the sound as I returned the pitcher to its place on the table, then lifted a hand and rubbed at my bleary eyes before rising to stumble to my cell door. I gripped the cold, iron bars with both hands and pressed my face pressed against them, but I could see nothing in the hallway. Across from me the Dunmer slept quietly in his cell. I wondered what time it was.

"Baurus! Lock that door behind us!" An authoritative, female voice commanded. My eyes strained in the gloom, trying to pick out the figures giving sound to the footsteps echoing along the passage.

"Yes, sir," a meeker, male voice replied.

"My sons… They're dead, aren't they?" A deep voice, full of despair, anguish. Majestic. I was moved by this voice, moved to pity. The sound of footsteps grew louder, as did the voices.

"We don't know that, Sire." My attention focused. _Sire_? What man of rank would be in the prison this late at night? "The messenger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead." The majestic voice again. "I know it."

"Sire…" The woman's voice. A pause. "My job right now is to get you to safety."

The speakers came into view, heading my way. There were four of them: two of the three men and the woman were heavily armed and armoured, and the last was an elderly man dressed in opulent robes. I released the bars and retreated to the back of my cell — I had no desire to attract the attention of those with weapons when I was without — but it was to little avail. They came to a stop before my cell, the woman's face tightening into a frown.

"What's this prisoner doing here?" she asked, turning angrily to one of her comrades — an Imperial. "This cell is supposed to be off-limits."

The Imperial shook his head and raised his hands as if to ward her anger off.

"Usual mix up with the Watch. I—"

"Never mind. Get that gate open." She turned her eyes on me, and in their depths I saw only hardened resolve, no pity. I would receive no leniency from her. "Stay back prisoner," she warned. "We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way." I nodded my understanding and raised my hands to show my compliance, my mind whizzing as I tried to decipher what was going on. The group entered the cell, Imperial first, the woman following after and then the man in the opulent robes. The remaining guardsman — a Redguard — closed the gate behind them, peering down the hallway one last time before he gave it a final shut.

"No sign of pursuit," he said.

"Good," the woman replied. "Let's go. We're not out of this yet."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I realized I was being watched by someone other than the Imperial who'd taken to guard me, and I turned my gaze to meet the eyes of the aged, robed man they escorted.

"You," he said softly. "I've seen you." Agitation gnawed at my stomach. I didn't like the situation. It was strange, unpredictable, and if this extravagant man knew of me then things were almost certainly going to become unpleasantly dangerous: most of the nobles who knew me were "business" acquaintances, and, as a Thieves Guild affiliate, it was safe to say that my unwilling patrons might be a little too violently happy to see me for my taste. That, and being singled out in a group of edgy, armed soldiers did little for my comfort, especially when it was obvious that their charge was in danger and that the danger was following him.

The man continued to frown at me.

"Let me see your face," he said, imperious and commanding. I tensed, fighting the reflex to flee, but he stepped closer before I could make a decision on what to do. His gaze caught mine, his blue, blue gaze, and I found myself unable to look away. He stared at me a moment more, and then a myriad of emotions passed over his face: surprise, anger, sorrow, relief, resignation, and, finally, resolve. "You are the one from my dreams," he said, as if to himself, although he continued to stare at me with his uncanny blue gaze. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Gods give me strength."

I was utterly bewildered. _What in Oblivion is he talking about?_

"What's going on?" I asked, my eyes narrowing in distrust as I tried to make sense of the situation.

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next," the man replied, looking at me again. "My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that route leads through your cell." He said this as if it should make everything clear, but it was still murky as the gutters of Bravil to me. I glanced over at the wall to my right where the female guard stood anxiously. Something about the Blades tugged at my mind, but I couldn't pin it down, so I instead returned my attention to the man. I didn't recognize his face, and that worried me. I must have burgled every house worth burgling in the Imperial City — I was one of the best in the Thieves Guild in part because I thoroughly knew my targets, their habits, their faces — and, judging by the man's robes, he owned a house that was worth burgling seven times over. I didn't like having no name for him.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice low and cautious. The man seemed surprised by my question, but he composed himself quickly.

"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim," he replied.

I felt the blood drain from my face. _This can't be happening_. My mind ran through several possibilities, but could find no plausible reason as to why he would say such a thing if it weren't true, unless he were mad. _Why would his guards go through all this trouble, though, if that were simply the case?_ This was the Imperial Prison. People didn't just walk in and stage phoney escape attempts. Nor did I think the palpable tension in the air was of false manufacture. I would have to take his word as it was.

"Please, sire," the female guard pleaded. "We must keep moving." Uriel nodded his understanding.

"We will speak later," he said to me, and then moved to her side. She stepped forward and must have touched some hidden device on the wall, for a large section of it suddenly sprang to life and swung back to reveal a dark passageway. I tried not to stare stupidly. I had checked that wall thoroughly for weaknesses and such anomalies not hours ago, and found nothing.

"Better not close this one," the woman said. "There's no way to open it from the other side." The emperor nodded again and stepped through after her as she disappeared into the gloom. The Imperial watching me took a moment to light a torch before slipping in behind them, followed by the Redguard, who paused to give me one last look.

"Looks like this is your lucky day," he said grimly. "Just stay out of our way." He turned and stepped forward and was quickly swallowed by the darkness left by the receding torch. I stood in silence, still bewildered by the sudden, strange turn of events, and then spun around and stuck my tongue out at the prone form of the Dunmer in the opposite cell. Grabbing a splinter of bone from the pile beneath the manacles, I stole into the darkness of the passageway, green eyes flashing. Maybe my sign, the Thief, still looked down favourably after all.

The tunnel beyond the opening in the wall was short and led to an underground passage built of white stone and arched columns. It reminded me of the Ayleid ruin I'd traversed beneath the Imperial Palace nearly fifteen years ago when I had stolen the Elder Scroll from the Imperial library, and I wondered on how much of the city was built on such similar ruins. I had little time to think on it, however, as the echoing footsteps of the group only a little ways ahead warned me not to linger. I didn't relish the idea of following them, what with the danger and the lean tempers of the emperor's guards, but the passageway gave me little choice in the matter. I hovered just beyond the light of their torch, hoping that, if the emperor's passing invitation held and I did as the Redguard bade and remained inconspicuous, I would be tolerated.

After several minutes of tense, muted travel, the passage ballooned out into a wider chamber with closed gate at the far end. Above us, at maybe my height and a half, a ledge wide enough to support a person ran along the walls of the room, and, in the walls themselves, there were large, dark openings, easily of the size to hide a man or woman. I entered after everyone cautiously, the hair on the back of my neck prickling as I stared up at the openings. I thought I saw movement — minute, barely perceptible — and I reached for my bow, catching myself as I remembered it had been confiscated by the Watch along with all my other possessions. I glanced at the others to see if they had noted it — they had not. The woman was fumbling with the key to the gate, and the others must have been more night blinded by the torch than I — and then back at the opening, startled to see the dark figure of an armoured humanoid perched on the ledge, gazing down at them as it readied a mace in its right hand.

"To the left!" I shouted. The figure snapped its head in my direction, revealing a snarling, metal mask on its face, just as three other figures appeared out of the openings beside it. They dropped down from the ledge, each dressed in daedric looking armour and scarlet robes, and rushed at the emperor's group.

"Close up left!" the woman roared as she drew her sword. "Protect the emperor!" Emperor Uriel drew his own sword and stepped back as the two men placed themselves between the three of the attackers and him, and then the two sides met in a clash of steel, battle cries and grunts resounding throughout the chamber. The fourth attacker made for me, his mace raised high as he readied a strike. I gripped my shard of bone tighter and readied myself, throwing myself to the side when he brought the weapon down to bash in my head. I rolled and came to my feet, facing him. He turned around and struck at me again, and I stepped back to avoid the blow, feeling the breeze it created as it just missed my chin. I stepped back again as the mace came around for the backswing, and then ducked under his next strike, taking the opportunity to drive my bone shard into the unprotected side of his knee. It wasn't enough to do worthwhile damage, but it hurt him enough to slow his next attack. I rolled past him and came up behind him, preparing to strike at what I hoped would be the unprotected back of his neck, and saw beyond him the Redguard about to be flanked by an attacker sneaking up from behind. I threw the bone shard as hard as I could, catching the encroaching man in the head and halting him for just a moment.

"Redguard, behind you!" I shouted, and then my own opponent had recovered himself and struck out at me. It clipped my shoulder as tried to avoid it, and I cried out angrily. He swung again, and I ducked underneath his attack and threw my shoulder against him, staggering him. I grabbed his mace arm while he was off balance and brought my foot behind his and pulled it out from underneath him, causing him to fall to the ground. He didn't let go of the mace, though, and, with a feat of strength, wrenched his arm from my hands and struck wildly at me, missing. I retreated a step back, taking the moment he used to begin struggling to his feet to reach down into myself and gather my magic, feeling it flow down from my core to pool with a burning sensation in my fingertips. I threw my hands forward as he gained his feet, unleashing a fireball into his chest. He staggered back, and I conjured another one, throwing it at him with fierce rigour. He staggered again, dropping his mace, and then he stiffened as a bright, steel blade broke through his armour and burst from his chest. He hung there a moment, suspended, eyes staring down disbelieving, before the blade withdrew and he collapsed to the ground. The Redguard was behind him, his face grim, and he silently met my eyes and held them before sheathing his sword and turning to face the Imperial, who was kneeling at the side of the woman's prone form, his hand against her throat. All the other attackers were dead.

"Captain Renault?" the emperor asked, his voice somehow hopeful yet despairing. The Imperial hung his head.

"She's dead, Sire," he said. The Redguard began scanning the ground, and then stepped past the woman's body and bent down to pick up the key she had dropped when the battle began.

"I'm sorry, Sire," he said. "But we have to keep moving." He turned to put the key into the door, and the Imperial stood and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"What about her?" he said in a low tone, nodding his head at me.

"What _about_ her?" the Redguard replied.

"For all we know she could be working with the assassins," the Imperial pointed out. "You saw her. She has magic just like them. And isn't it convenient she was in that cell just as we needed it?" His eyes turned to me, cold, suspicious, and I felt myself tense, readying for a confrontation. "And even if she isn't, she's a criminal. We can't trust her." The Redguard turned his eyes to me, uncertain. The Imperial took a step towards me and began to draw his sword.

"Enough, Glenroy." The emperor's voice reverberated through the room, deep and commanding. Glenroy looked over at Uriel, surprise etched on his face, as did I and Baurus. "She is not one of them. She can help us," he continued, his voice and expression calming. He turned his gaze to me, and it was both commanding and pleading. "She _must_ help us."

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to look away and say that I was only there to make my escape, but something in his gaze forced me to swallow the words. His belief, his need, made his request undeniable. It touched some part of me that wanted to be... more. Not a murderer. Not a thief. And there was... truth, in some way I couldn't understand. _You are the one from my dreams_. What did he mean?

"I can't guarantee that I can get us out of this alive," I said, slowly. _Stupid, stupid! Just save yourself!_ another part of me cried. "But what I can do, I will."

"This is a mistake, Sire," Glenroy argued. Uriel looked back at him, his face suddenly stern.

"It is my decision," he said with finality. Glenroy looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, but he bit back the retort he looked like he longed to give and nodded.

"As you wish, Sire," he said. The crisis dealt with, the Redguard faced the door again and turned the key, pushing the door open and allowing Glenroy to pass through first, blade half drawn, followed by the emperor. I went to the woman's side and began to disentangle the shortbow and quiver I'd seen on her back earlier. The Redguard noticed this and stared at me, frowning.

"We don't like those who steal from the dead," he said.

"I can use magic, but I'm not a mage," I said, still continuing to work. "I'll be a lot more use to you properly equipped." I glanced up at him. "I'm sorry, but she's dead. And now since I'm taking her place as one of the emperor's guards I don't think she'll mind all that much." I strapped the quiver over my shoulder and tested the bow's string, then set it aside and began to work the dagger off her belt. The Redguard remained silent as I worked.

"Her sword, too," he said after a moment, surprising me. I looked up. "We use the swords of the fallen to honour our dead. We shouldn't leave it for more of those bastards to get a hold of."

I nodded and set to removing the long, curved blade from the hip of the dead woman. When it was done, I lifted it to him.

"It seems important to you," I said. "You keep it. I'm not much good with a sword anyway." Despite my having been with the Fighters Guild of Cyrodiil for seven years already, my swordsmanship truly was pathetically poor. All my life I'd relied on my skills with a bow, falling back on daggers and hand-to-hand combat when it was absolutely necessary — it was only in the past few months that I'd even begun to study swordsmanship, and only at the insistence of my good friend and guild master, Modryn Oreyn.

The Redguard nodded and took the sword, thrusting it through his belt above his own blade. He looked at me with an expression I couldn't decipher as I rose, and then we turned to leave. Glenroy and Uriel were waiting for us just a little ways beyond the gate, Glenroy still scowling at me suspiciously, and the emperor watching with the deep, deep sorrow of his ordeal carved about his eyes and in the lines about his mouth. It made me feel for him. Rejoined, we set out as a group.

Our passage was swift and quiet. Our way took us through passages so small we could only walk single file and through others that were large, with the ceiling high above our heads and so open we couldn't feel anything but exposed. The air here was still and stale. Our feet stirred up clouds of dust that had lain undisturbed for who-knew-how-long and mingled with the acrid smoke of the torch to burn our eyes and thicken our tongues with thirst. No one spoke. Even the soft clink of rubbing buckles or armour plates moving against each other felt loud, and I found myself wincing at the slight sound and scanning the dark around us constantly for any sign of attack. Once or twice I thought I saw eyes flash in the dark, or movement follow us, but whether or not it was merely some creature slinking along in the night or something else, I couldn't discern. It didn't attack us, either way, but it made my skin crawled with the thought of it and I clenched my bow more tightly.

We had been travelling for some time when we entered a large room: open, exposed, but — perhaps because I was blinded by the torch — without any of visible the ledges or openings that had been in the room where we were first attacked. We stepped inside cautiously, and Uriel lost his balance on a loose stone underfoot. Glenroy caught his arm and steadied him, and I noticed then that the emperor was breathing heavily and had the sheen of sweat on his brow. It struck me then that Uriel was an old, old man. We had been travelling quickly, but not so quickly that a healthy man in his prime could not keep pace. The sheen on his brow betrayed him. His years were probably fewer than a century's, yet he was on the verge of death, even if he survived the assassins striving to kill him and this dark, arduous journey. The thought sobered me. He was so terribly young. I wanted to make him live, to take his frail, human life and make it more. I wanted him to survive.

"Please, a moment," he said, still breathing heavily. "I need a moment to catch my breath."

Glenroy and the Redguard looked at each other, but there was no denying Uriel needed rest.

"I'll start a perimeter," the Redguard said, drawing his sword and disappearing into the night. Glenroy helped Uriel sit down on a large chunk of debris that had fallen from one of the walls and then made to stand guard over him, but the emperor waved him away.

"Go with Baurus, Glenroy," he said. "The prisoner here will watch over me." Glenroy shot me a distrusting look, but did as the emperor bade, albeit grudgingly. "Come closer," Uriel said, motioning me nearer. "I prefer not to have to shout." I obeyed, unsure of what he wanted of me. "He cannot understand why I trust you," he said when I stood near, gazing out into the darkness at Glenroy's dim form. "But he has not seen what I've seen." I waited for him to continue, but the emperor said nothing more.

"And... what is it that you have seen, Sire?" I asked, my voice pitched low so as not to carry in the quiet of the chamber. Uriel hesitated, searching for the words.

"Do you know the Nine? How They guide our fates with an invisible hand?" I frowned a little, but nodded nonetheless. Although I didn't think he would count Sithis as a god – not that I followed Sithis any more – the Lord of Night was the "deity" to whom I had ever been the closest. Yet despite what that said about my relationship with the Nine, I knew of them, and their tales. "I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens," Uriel continued. "The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and the signs I read in them show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

His words gave me pause. It is something to hear another speak of the death they have seen for themselves. _You are the one from my dreams_. I felt cold settle in my stomach.

"Will I die down here as well? Will we all die down here?" I asked quietly.

"By which sign were you born?" he questioned by way of reply.

I paused.

"The Thief."

The emperor nodded, as if something he already knew had been confirmed.

"Your stars are not mine," he said. "Today the Thief shall guide your steps on the road to destiny. My dreams grant me no opinions of success – their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death – but in your face I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may yet banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promises of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

_Is that supposed to make sense?_

"I said I would help, Sire, but I don't understand what you mean."

"I go to my grave," Uriel said in a voice that chilled my blood. "A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, and then we must part. That is all I know, and I cannot speak it more plainly."

"But what is all this about Akatosh's glory and the coming darkness? What does that mean? What do you want me to do?"

Uriel turned his eyes on me, a slight, sardonic smile on his lips.

"Find him… and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

I stared at him, confused, and then there was a cry from Glenroy.

"Assassins!"

I drew an arrow and readied it within a matter of a second, and Uriel rose and drew his sword as the sound of battle reached us from our right. An assassin came within the light of the torch left on the ground by our feet, and I raised my bow and took aim, firing the arrow at the little eye slit in the attacker's mask. My aim was off, however, with the bow unfamiliar to me, and the arrow bounced off the mask. The assassin reeled, and I readied another arrow. When he face me again, I was ready. My aim didn't miss the second time. As he collapsed with an arrow in his eye, another assassin appeared behind him, and I fired again. The assassin jerked his hand and threw up a magical barrier, and the arrow slowed and bent from its course when it was about to strike. The assassin made directly for Uriel. I drew another arrow and aimed it at the assassin's leg, loosing it after a brief half-moment. It struck and the assassin staggered, dropping his mace as he clutched at the wounded part. I readied another arrow and struck him in the chest, then again and again for good measure as he toppled over. Baurus came bursting out of the darkness after him, sword raised to strike, but he stopped when he realized there was no one near the emperor to attack. Glenroy appeared the moment after, also looking surprised.

"I told you I was no mage," I said, a half-smile on my lips as I saw Baurus' eyes settle on the man with an arrow in his eye.

"I see that now," he replied. Glenroy simply stared at me suspiciously for a moment before turning to Baurus.

"We've been lucky, but if we keep moving those assassins are going to get the drop on us," he said. "We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives."

"Help? What makes you think help will get here before more of those bastards?" Baurus replied, his face contorted in a scowl.

"If we can find a good position, we won't need help to arrive before them. This… elf seems to have a good handle on the bow. Between the three of us we could keep them off for some time."

"We don't know how many there are. If we settle on one position, they could swarm us," Baurus argued.

"There's also the difficulty of me having limited arrows," I said. "I don't know how long they'll last if we're constantly holding off enemies. I'm not prepared for a siege."

"Does anybody even know we're down here?" Baurus added. Glenroy gave a sigh.

"Sire," he said with resignation in his voice, turning to Uriel. "Are you ready to move on now?"

The emperor moved his gaze from me — I hadn't noticed he'd been watching — and nodded.

"Yes. Let us continue on."

And so we went. There were assassins waiting for us in the next two chambers, but we defeated them without too much trouble. Still, my anxiety rose with each attack. Our position was known; it was only a matter of time until we were overwhelmed, even if we kept moving or stayed in one spot. From the looks on their faces, Baurus and Glenroy knew it too.

After passing through a winding tunnel only big enough for us to walk single file, we came out into a small chamber that ended in a rusted gate, similar to the one where we were attacked by the first assassins.

"This is it. We're almost through the sewers," Glenroy said, stepping towards the door. "Just through this gate, and––" Although he pushed, the gate remained immobile. Baurus whirled around and drew his sword, readying for an attack. "Dammit," Glenroy cursed under his breath. "The gate is barred from the other side. A trap!"

"What about that side passage we passed in the tunnel?" Baurus offered.

"Worth a try," Glenroy admitted. "Let's go!" As we turned I met Uriel's eyes, and I didn't like what I saw there. His face was calm, compliant. He needn't to be so… accepting. _Your life is worth fighting for,_ I wanted to say, but he was the emperor. It wasn't my place to say anything.

Cautiously we made our way back to the side passage, Baurus now in the lead. After a few steps it opened up into a regular sized passage large enough for us to walk side by side. The light from the torch Baurus held flickered eerily on the walls, and I kept starting at the shadows. After a few feet the passage opened up into a small chamber, then shrank into another passageway before opening up again into a midsized chamber. As we entered, I felt my stomach sink and bile rose to the back of my throat.

"It's a dead end," Baurus said. We all stared at the blank wall before us, at the ledges about my height and a half above us, with openings in the walls above us large enough to admit a person. It was just like the room where Renault had died. Baurus turned back to Glenroy. "What's your call, sir?"

"I don't know," the other replied wearily. "I don't see any good options here. We could try—"

"They're behind us!" Baurus cried, cutting him off. I whirled around, readying an arrow as the three men drew their swords. An assassin appeared in the doorway, and Glenroy charged him and forced him back with a roar, disappearing into the gloom.

"Wait here with the Emperor," Baurus told me. "Guard him with your life." Then he drew himself up and dashed after Glenroy, sword flashing in the torchlight.

I watched him go, my bow ready to fire the instant an assassin showed his face through in the chamber's entrance.

"Sarasamacial, I can go no further."

I glanced back at Uriel, taken aback and confused by his use of my name.

"How do you know my––?"

"You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants," he said, cutting me off as he stepped closer. "He must not have the Amulet of Kings!" His eyes gazed bright into mine with fierce determination, even as he lifted his aged hands to undo the clasp of the heavy, red-gemmed amulet about his neck. "Take the Amulet," he said, taking my hand from the bowstring and pressing the amulet into it. My arrow fell to the floor. "Give it to Jauffre," Uriel continued. I tried to slip the amulet about my neck for safekeeping but it came loose — even though I was sure I hadn't undone the clasp — so I tucked it into the waistband of my prisoner's garb instead. "He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

"You said that before. But what do you––?" I never had a chance to finish my question. One moment we were alone, the next an assassin was behind him, blade poised to strike. "Look out!" I cried, trying to push him out of the way, but it was too late. Uriel had but a moment to contemplate defending himself, but a moment where he began to glance back at my warning, and then his arm was wrenched back and a bright blade nestled against his throat. The assassin's snarling mask hovered over his shoulder, taunting me. I froze, my mind racing to find some way to free Uriel.

"Stranger," the assassin said, his blade pressing hard enough against the emperor's throat to produce a trickle of blood. "You chose a bad day to take up with the cause of the Septims."

"No! Stop!" I said, and then he drew his blade across the emperor's throat. I drew an arrow, a snarl of fury on my lips as the assassin pushed Uriel's body away and charged me. I dodged his first swing and stepped back, trying to gain myself enough room to shoot, but the assassin saw what I was doing and pressed the attack. Gritting my teeth, I dodged back again, dropping my bow as he swung for my hands, unable to strike back. The assassin laughed, confident in his victory. He began manoeuvring me towards the wall of the chamber, and though I saw, I couldn't do anything about it. I was running out of time.

With a desperation I had never known, I began to form a spell in my mind, pleading with whatever god that I could do both that and evade his strikes at the same time. Power sizzled under my fingertips. I threw up my hand and let a fireball fly right into the assassin's face as he was about to strike. I hadn't even had time to conjure up the full force of the petty spell, but it was enough to surprise him. He staggered back, and with a quick motion I drew my dagger and lunged for him. He managed to bat aside my arm, but with a flick of my wrist I tossed the dagger under our arms and caught it with my left hand. Before he could react, I drove the dagger deep into his throat. I pulled it out and stepped back, and he staggered, a great, red gout of blood gushing from his ruined neck and spraying me. He raised his hands to his throat, and then slowly collapsed to one knee before completely crumbling to the ground. I stood over him for a moment, breathing heavily, before turning, picking up my bow, and going to Uriel's side. He was dead. I hadn't expected different, but some part of me had hoped.

Baurus barrelled into the room, winded and covered in blood. His eyes settled on me, bloodstained and kneeling over the emperor's still body, and lit with fury.

"You!" he growled, and gripped his sword harder.

"No! Look!" I shouted, pointing at the assassin's dead form a few feet away. He glanced over at the man, and then looked back at me, hard, trying to judge the situation. "I didn't kill the emperor," I told him. "The assassin dropped down from one of those openings. He got to him before I could do anything, and he almost got me."

Baurus stared at me a moment longer, and then went to the assassin's body.

"Look at his sword," I said. "It will have blood on it, but I was never cut. Check me if you want. I didn't kill the emperor."

Baurus looked at the sword as I had suggested, and then came and stood over me, surveying my appearance, his sword still held in his hand. After a moment, his face collapsed into a look of grief, and he turned to the emperor's body and fell to his knees beside it.

"Talos save us," he murmured in a broken voice. "We failed. _I_ failed." I gazed down at Uriel, who, despite the bloody gash in his neck, looked calm and peaceful. _Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion_. So still, so quiet. I had seen death before many times, but somehow Uriel's lifeless body still filled me with a sense of regret and loss. I looked over at Baurus. His brown eyes moved to meet mine briefly, defeated. "The Blades are sword to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead," he said. His gaze dropped to Uriel's ruined throat, bare in the fluttering light of the fallen torch. He stiffened. "The Amulet," he said, anxious. "Where is the Amulet of Kings?" He began to search frantically. I put a hand on his arm.

"He gave it to me," I said, pulling it from my waist. "It's here." Baurus' eyes rose from the emperor, coming to rest on the Amulet of Kings in my hand. I watched his expression, expecting him to demand I give it to him, but he only stared at it, his expression slowly fading from anxiety to contemplation.

"Strange," he said. "He saw something in you. Trusted you." I glanced down at the body near my feet. _You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants._ Baurus turned back to the body, reached up, and closed the emperor's eyes. Then he stood. "The Amulet has power," he said. "Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

I rose and met his gaze.

"He said to take it to Jauffre," I said. Baurus looked surprised.

"Jauffre? He said that? Why?"

I shrugged, looking down at the emperor again.

"There is another heir."

He frowned.

"Nothing I ever heard about," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "But Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order, although you may not think to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol."

I frowned and lifted my gaze to his.

"Are you suggesting _I_ take the Amulet to Jauffre?" I asked. Baurus shrugged.

"The emperor trusted you. Don't know why I shouldn't."

"You don't even know me," I said. "I could be some petty criminal who'd happily sell the Amulet as junk!"

"Will you?"

I blinked at him, taken aback.

"Well, no, but–!" He stared at me calmly while protestations lingered unspoken on my tongue. I looked away and sighed, relenting. "Weynon Priory, you said?"

"You know the way?"

"Once I get out of here, yes."

"Then take this." I looked back at the Blade and took the key he offered. "Find your way to the sewers," he said. "That's where we were heading. It's a secret way out of the Imperial City. Or it was _supposed_ to be secret, anyway. That key will let you through the last door."

I nodded.

"Understood," I said. I paused. "I... assume you won't be accompanying me?"

Baurus shook his head.

"No. I'll stay here to guard the Emperor's body until help arrives, and make sure no one follows you. It's... the least I can do to honour his memory."

We both glanced over at the still emperor.

"This isn't the end," I said. "We'll make whoever did this pay." Baurus didn't reply. "Good luck to you then," I added. I made to go.

"Wait," he said. I stopped and faced him. "I don't even know your name."

I studied him for a moment.

"Sarasamacial," I told him. " Of the Fighters Guild. And you're Baurus, yes?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. That's me. Talos guide you. You might need it."

"And you."

I turned my back to him and stepped away, heading the way we had come. By the time I had found my way to and through the sewers and pushed back the grating of the final door, it was full light outside. I shielded my eyes from the sun; after the dark of the ruins and sewers, it was hard to look without squinting. It almost made it seem like what had happened in the prison was a dream, a dark dream. _You are the one from my dreams._ I shook my head to dispel the memory. My stomach rumbled unhappily, reminding me that, emperor's command or no, I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

"Alright," I said, drawing my dagger. "Let's see if we can't find something to eat."

From the water's edge not far away, a mud crab snapped its claws at me. The Thief really was still with me. I smiled.

Breakfast.


	3. Of Masters and Grandmasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes I'm really stupid. I mean, really stupid."

I had a horse, Shadowmere, stabled at the Imperial City stables, and, replacing my prisoner's garb with a set of clothing I stole from the inn at Weye, recovered her quickly and set out for Weynon Priory. I had a home in the Imperial City as well, but my arms and armour had been confiscated by the Watch and wouldn't be there anyway, and the gold I had sewn into Shadowmere's saddle would be enough to sustain me should I need it. I didn't fancy getting caught again by showing my face in the city too soon. Too much risk. I wasn't at my wits' best either considering I'd spent most of the previous night awake, so, once I was away from the city, I found a safe place off the road and had myself a much needed few hours of rest. Fortunately, and in spite of this, I was able to spy the priory in sight just before the sun was beginning to set.

The road Shadowmere and I travelled climbed a slight hill leading towards the priory, and then split into two, one veering away to the left, to Chorrol, and the other passing through the priory grounds. Through the trees, the tops of the priory buildings were touched with orange in the sun's slowly dying light, at least what I could see of them. As I rode, I touched the Amulet of Kings through the cloth of a pouch at my waist for reassurance – it wouldn't do to have it go missing. My thoughts flickered back to what had happened over that past day. It would be strange when this was all over. I would give the Amulet to Jauffre, whoever he was, he would take it to Uriel's bastard heir, and Cyrodiil would return to normal. Uriel, his sons, and his Blades' deaths would be reduced to a simple mark on a paper and perhaps a topic of conversation. No one would remember me. I was only the messenger, caught up in events bigger than her.

And yet, I had spoken to the emperor himself and carried the sacred Amulet of Kings. It was more than most of Tamriel could say. I wondered briefly if my part in the tale would get me out of any potential future jail time, and then discarded the idea as unlikely. Unless Baurus testified, no one would believe me. Well, Modryn might, but he'd throw a fit when he heard. I smiled at the thought of my Dunmer friend. Perhaps if this business concluded swiftly, I could make it to Chorrol before they closed the gates. It would be good to see him again. He might even have work for me.

As I crested the hill, the priory grounds opened up before me. There was a low house to one side and a small chapel to the other, with the main building nestled between them behind a well and arching over the dirt road that split its grounds. Through the arch of the centre building I could see the stables. There weren't any markings I could see to indicate what the low house and main building were, so, when I reached the grounds, I dismounted and paused by the well, trying to judge where Jauffre would be. Baurus had said he wouldn't look like the Grandmaster of the Blades, but other than that had given me no description. I didn't matter. I had worked on less before. The name, for instance, was enough to narrow down his race. Jauffre was a Breton name. Which made the silver-haired Dunmer rounding the corner of the main building an unlikely – but potentially helpful – candidate.

"Excuse me," I called out, and he stopped and looked at me, a question in his eyes. I closed the distance between us, Shadowmere following obediently. "I have a message for a man named Jauffre," I said as I neared. "I was given his name but not his description, I'm afraid. Could you show me to him?"

"Oh, well, if he's not sleeping or eating, he'll be fussing over his books, I reckon, over in Priory House," the Dunmer said. He gestured to the main building in front of us. "I'd show you myself, but I've got a bit of work to do before the sun sets. Just look for the older Breton man if Prior Maborel isn't there to take you to him."

"Ah, my thanks." I gave him a polite smile. "And you are...? I didn't catch your name."

"Eroner," he replied. "I'm the shepherd here."

"A pleasure then. Good fortune with your work."

He stepped away and I moved to the door of the Priory House. Breton, indeed.

The House itself was built of cold, grey stone, but it was warmed by the merry fire burning in the hearth to my left. There was a table before it with two monks eating, and, as I entered, one of them rose and approached me.

"I am Prior Maborel. Is there something I can help you with?" Although the Prior's tone was cordial, his warmth of his greeting was belied by the scowl on his face. I wondered briefly if all the monks here were secretly Blades, like Jauffre, like Baurus. I shifted a little so I could reach my bow easier, just in case. I didn't fully trust them to trust me.

"I have a message for Jauffre. Could you tell me where he is?" I asked. The Prior's frown eased a little.

"He's upstairs," he said, pointing. "Go ahead." I ducked my head in polite deference and followed the directions laid out by his arm, climbing the stairs at the back of the room. He watched as I went. At the top of the stairs I turned right, stepping onto a landing that held several bookcases, a chest, and an older Breton man studying a heavy tome behind a solid, wooden desk. I approached slowly so as not to startle him.

"Excuse me," I asked in my best Tamrielic. "Are you Jauffre?" The man looked up, frowning.

"Yes, I'm Brother Jauffre," he said. "What do you want?" I took a deep breath and took the Amulet of Kings from my waist pouch, striding across the room to place it carefully on the desk before him.

"The emperor told me to bring this to you."

Jauffre frowned further and shut his tome, placing it somewhere by his feet out of sight. Then he leaned forward and lifted the Amulet from the desk to inspect it further.

"Is this...?" he said, and then he raised steely eyes to meet mine. "You'd better explain yourself. Now."

I nodded my chin at the Amulet, my own expression stony.

"That is the Amulet of Kings, given to me by Emperor Uriel. He is dead, slain by assassins in the hidden passages below the Imperial Prison."

Jauffre lowered the Amulet, and gestured to the chair set against the nearby wall.

"Sit," he said. "And tell me everything you know."

It took some time to relate everything that had happened – the jail cell, my first meeting with Uriel, Captain Renault's death, Glenroy, Baurus, the assassins – but when I had, Jauffre sat in silence, thinking it all over.

"As unlikely as your story sounds," he said eventually, "I believe you. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me carrying the Amulet of Kings." He shook his head in confounded amazement. I was quiet for a moment longer, but something the emperor had said nagged at the back of my mind.

"Who is the Prince of Destruction?" I asked. "What did the emperor mean by 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion'?"

The Grandmaster shook his head.

"His meaning is unclear to me as well. The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic realm of Oblivion. It is clear the emperor perceived some threat from Oblivion, but all the scholars agree that the mortal world is protected from the daedra by magical barriers."

"So how could Mehrunes Dagon be a threat then?"

"I'm not sure," Jauffre replied. "The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods – it is a holy relic of great power. When an emperor is crowned, he uses it to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City, but only the emperors truly understand the meaning of the rituals of coronation. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries. It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of."

I sighed and leaned back in my chair.

"So you need to find Uriel's bastard heir then, don't you?" I said. "Will he even know anything?"

Jauffre shook his head.

"It may not even be that he needs to know. Merely being of the Septim blood may be enough to undo what has been done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get my men organized. Prior Maborel will reward you for your efforts, and I trust your discretion in this delicate matter. If anyone finds out about the heir, he could be dead before we get to him, and then everything will be truly lost." He rose and picked up the Amulet, placing it in a pocket at his waist before beginning to make his way past me. I stared at the spot where it had been a moment before, my inner thoughts in turmoil. _You're just the messenger, Sarasamacial,_ I told myself. _Take your reward and go. This isn't your problem to deal with. You're not... fit for it._ The memory of my nightmare in the prison cell flashed before me, my old self taunting me and the dead fingers of those I'd murdered grasping at my limbs. No, I wasn't fit to serve.

_You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants._

A newly reformed ex-thief trying to get over a bad hist run and her own traumatic nightmares didn't make a good candidate for world saving, especially not an ex-thief with a history such as mine.

_But in your face I behold the sun's companion._

Uriel hadn't even know me. He hadn't know what I'd done. If he did, he'd have never...

_You are the one from my dreams._

And it didn't matter if he knew. He was old, grief stricken. He couldn't have been thinking straight when he said I could help. When he said I _had_ to help.

_With such hope, and with the promises of your aid, my heart must be satisfied._

And yet, I wanted... If I saved others, then maybe I...

"Jauffre."

The Breton paused at the top of the stairs, his questioning gaze turned to me. I rose and faced him.

"Where can I find Uriel's heir?" I asked. Oblivion take it, you stupid s'wit, part of me admonished. You'll only ruin it if you get involved. Look at Uriel!

He frowned.

"His whereabouts aren't your concern," he said. "The fewer who know who and where he is the safer he'll be until this is all over."

"I want to help. I can be of use to you."

"Your offer is appreciated, but this is a matter for the Blades––"

"That isn't true."

Jauffre scowled at me. I drew in a breath and hardened my resolve.

"If Mehrunes Dagon is the threat you think he is, than this is a matter for all of Tamriel, not just the Blades," I argued. "I am Sarasamacial, Champion of the Fighters Guild of Cyrodiil. I know what it's like to command a force that doesn't have enough men. And I'm not saying that this is the case with the Blades, but surely it will take time to alert and debrief another on the situation, yes? I'm here, and I'm available now." I paused, glancing away for one moment as I reflected on the words I was about to speak. "Besides, the emperor asked it of me."

Jauffre was quiet a moment as he thought on what I said, although the scowl that had marred his aged features had disappeared.

"What you say is true," he said slowly, moving closer as he did so. "And if you are who you say you are, then I have heard tale of you skills in dealing with the Blackwood Company. You are a warrior to be feared."

"So I like to think," I said softly, inwardly cringing from his words. The echoes of my nightmare haunted me. Innocent blood on my hands.

With sudden decision, Jauffre walked past me and to the chest near his desk.

"Uriel's heir serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here," he said, his voice firm with resolve and command. "His name is Martin. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger. You will go to Kvatch and find him at once." He faced me. "Baurus trusted you. The Emperor trusted you... it seems I have no reason I should not." He withdrew a silver key from inside his robes, bent, and unlocked the chest. Rising, he turned to me again. "My resources here are limited, but I will help in any way I can." He gestured to the chest. "Help yourself to whatever you need. Now, excuse me, I must attend to my Blades."

"Thank you, Jauffre."

"May Talos guide you, Sarasamacial." He walked past me. I watched him go, his silvered, tonsured head disappearing down the stairs. When I could no longer see him, I turned to the chest and outfitted myself with studded leathers that thankfully fit my form fairly well, restocked my arrows, and helped myself to several potions.

When I went to take my leave, however, I was stopped by Brother Piner.

"You're going into danger, aren't you?" he said. "Jauffre didn't tell us any more than that, but know that our prayers go with you." He looked down, as if a little embarrassed, and offered me a small bundle he held in his hands. "It may not help much, but I want you to have this. It's from my days when I trained as a Blade." I accepted the bundle, and carefully undid the knot at the top that kept it together. The cloth fell back, revealing a whetstone and oiling kit. I smiled at him and closed it up.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm sure I'll have great use for it."

"I'm glad. Talos guide you," he said.

"And you."

* * *

The gates to Chorrol were just closing as I ran up from the stables. Fortunately for me, it was Astius Phillian doing the closing, an old friend from my early Fighter's Guild days. He smiled and waved, and I called a breathless 'thanks' as I slowed to a stop beside him.

"Getting a little out of shape," he teased, and I smiled at his cheeky tone as I caught my breath. "I remember a time when you boasted of running from Chorrol to Cheydinhal without rest." I grinned up at him as I straightened, my breath returning.

"I think that was the same time I claimed I could jump to the moon, but Modryn grabbed me and pulled me off the table to stop my attempt. I remember because he spilt my mead."

Astius gave a laugh.

"Always getting into trouble, aren't you?" He sobered a little, his blue eyes watching me from under the rim of his helmet. "How is Oreyn doing, by the way? I haven't seen much of him off shift lately."

"The guild keeps him busy," I replied. "We're still recovering from that run in with the Blackwood Company. Recruiting is low. Pay is even lower. The only thing that's improved is our reputation. "

"Damn Argonians and their hist," he said with a shake of his head. "Well, when you see him, give him my regards. Tell him to go get a drink."

"I will," I replied with a laugh. "Thanks for letting me in."

The first thing I saw as I entered the town proper was the statue of the dying soldier and the healer. At least, that was what I'd always thought of it as. It didn't quite seem a good omen considering my task, but I ignored the thought and headed past it, following the streets I knew so very well. It took me only a few minutes to cross the city, and soon I was heading up the steps to the Fighter's Guild, the heavy, wooden handle of the door under my hand.

The sights and smells of the Chorrol Fighter's Guild hall were some of the most memorable in all my forty-odd years of life, and I sighed in contentment as I fell over me. Turning, I nimbly hopped up the stairs, nodding in acknowledgement to the porter who saluted me as I passed. As I neared the guild master's floor a familiar muttering and cursing filled my ears, and I smiled.

"Shouldn't you be home by now?" I said teasingly to the dark blue head bent over a pile of manuscripts. The head in question lifted, revealing an angry scowl I knew too well. Ah, Modryn Oreyn. He never changed. Part of why I loved the man.

"There you are!" he exclaimed. He put down his quill angrily. "What in the blazes took you so long? We had word that your contract has been filled for over a week!"

"Sorry," I said with a nonchalant shrug. "I got a little tied up in the Imperial City." I settled myself on the edge of his desk while my friend glowered. "Things are bad, Modryn."

He leaned back a little, the fury on his face dissipating by a degree.

"How bad?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "Not the Blackwood Company or something again, is it?"

I shook my head.

"Worse. The Emperor is dead. So are his heirs." Shock registered briefly on his face.

"What do you mean, 'dead'?"

"'Dead' as in he isn't going to rule any time soon, and his sons aren't going to do it, either. I don't know when word of this will get out, but as of this morning we've been officially ruled by the Elder Council."

Modryn pushed himself back from the desk and rose. He began to pace in front of me.

"How do you know this?" he asked. "You said it happened this morning… barely anyone would have heard of it by now. It's not something the Council would want known until they'd had a chance to deal with it."

I sighed and steeled myself.

"I was there, Modryn. I watched the Emperor die." He stopped his pacing, and stared at me.

"You _what_?"

So I told him. Much as I had with Jauffre, I explained my imprisonment, the hidden passage, our separation, our reunion, of the attacks, and, finally, of Uriel's death. I left out the Amulet, however, and Martin. I had learned long ago the cold, cruel lesson of ill placed trust. Modryn was the closest thing I had to family and a dearest friend, but some things were wiser not to speak of. Besides, the less he knew, the less of a threat he was, and the less likely he was to be a target for any future assassinations.

During my account, Modryn had returned to his chair, and now sat there with his chin resting on his hands and a look of disbelief on his face.

"I don't know what to think, Sara," he said slowly. "Are you in any danger?"

I shook my head.

"I don't believe so. Any of the assassins who might have seen my face were slain. Baurus told me to see the head of the Blades to pass on the Emperor's final words, but other than that I've no association with them."

"Good. Keep it that way. You've always had a knack for getting yourself into trouble."

I smiled wistfully at my friend. If only he knew. How I wished I could take him on my merry adventure.

I rose swiftly.

"I'm going to Kvatch tomorrow," I announced casually as I settled my bow more comfortably. "I'll be leaving at first light."

"Kvatch?" Modryn questioned. "Did Burz gro-Khash give you a contract I'm unaware of?"

"No, not Burz. Personal business."

Modryn frowned at me, but he could find no reason to tell me no. I had, after all, earned any time off I desired. I was the guild's shining star.

"All right," he grudgingly agreed. His face unexpectedly softened, and I saw the weight of his many years in the faint, faint lines of his face. "Just come back safe, will you? With the Emperor dead, who knows what will happen."

I nodded and touched his shoulder fondly.

"I will. Don't worry."

He offered me a bed at his home as we made our way down the stairs, allowing me the chance to avoid sleeping in the common room with all our other guild-mates, but I turned him down. I didn't mind sharing spaces with my comrades, even if my rank entitled me to more luxurious accommodations. Regardless if I had said yes, however, I would have spent the entire night feeling guilty. Modryn only had one bed, and that meant giving it to me if I accepted. No protestations on my part would be able to change his mind on that, either, and I didn't like the thought of my friend sleeping on the floor of his own home. It was my hope that with his new position in the guild he might soon be able to afford a few extra comforts. He deserved them.

I bade my friend good night, and settled myself in one of the empty cots on the second floor of the guild hall, near a window. I wanted to make sure the sunlight would wake me if my own internal clock failed. Snuggling into the thin blankets, I slept. It would be a long journey tomorrow.


	4. Septim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why does it always, ALWAYS hinge on one person?"

The next day dawned bright and clear. I was one of the first to rise. After my quick meal of bread and cheese, I loaded myself up with my equipment – I took a set of poisons and lockpicks I'd hidden in one of the chest's bottoms and a short-sword on a whim – and set out. I decided to go cross country, as the roads would have taken me back to the Imperial City and through Skingrad before reaching Kvatch. It would be a bit of a hard trek because of it, but Shadowmere was well rested and it would cut a day and a half off my travel. I left Chorrol in high spirits.

The way was mostly uneventful. The residents of Hackdirt were even more unpleasant than usual, I fended off a trio of bandits near Fort Dirich, and it rained unceasingly from the noon hour until the fourth, but other than that it was mostly silence and my thoughts. Fortunately, by the time I hit the road just below the switchback trail that lead up to Kvatch that evening my equipment and I had dried out, but it was a dark evening with heavy clouds and the rumble of thunder not far off, and I didn't hold out much hope for staying dry for much longer. As I approached the city, I noticed what looked like smoke rising from where the city should have been (I could not see it for the trees), and frowned. It could have been just low-lying cloud, but…

I rounded a corner in the switchback trail, and the sight of a refugee camp met my eyes. A few tents were set up, and people rushed anxiously to and fro or sat morosely staring at the ground, shock and grief on their faces. I dismounted and stared, frowning, as I approached on foot, Shadowmere behind me. _What in Oblivion has happened here?_

"Come on! Run while there's still time!" An Altmer male appeared among the refugees, pulling on clothing and making a general ruckus. "The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!" The people around him didn't seem to take notice.

"What's going on?" I said as I approached. "What's happened here?"

The Altmer stared at me with wide eyes, his mouth falling a little agape.

"Gods' blood," he said. "You don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself!" His voice, which had been steadily rising in volume and terror, suddenly dropped. His eyes flitted about as if he could still see whatever nightmare was tormenting him. "There was a huge creature, something out of a nightmare… came right over the walls blasting fire. They swarmed around it, killing…" He trailed off, covering his face with golden hands as a choked sob escaped him. _Daedra? Oblivion gates? What in all the…?_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, start over again. Are you saying _daedra_ attacked the city?" In a terrifying way, it made sense. _Close shut the jaws of Oblivion._ If this was the threat Emperor Uriel had foreseen…

"Go and see for yourself," the Altmer spat, lifting his head from his hands. "Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We're all that's left, do you understand me? Everyone else is dead!" That couldn't be. Martin was supposed to be here. If he wasn't with the refugees…

I looked the Altmer hard in the eye.

"If you escaped there could be others," I said. "How did you do it?" He seemed to deflate right before me.

"It was… It was Savlian Matius. Some of the other guards helped some of us escape. They cut their way out, right through the city gates. Savlian says they can hold the road. No, no… I don't believe him." He shook his head viciously to add to his statement. "Nothing can stop them. If you'd seen it, you'd know…" He glanced back over his shoulder, trembling. His voice began to rise in volume again. "I'm getting out of here before it's too late! They'll be here any minute, I'm telling you. Run while you still can!" He slipped around me then, still raving to the air.

"Stick to the roads!" I shouted after him, but I wasn't sure if he heard me. _I_ could travel the back country without much worry, but I also had the skills to defend myself. _Poor sod._ Turning back to the encampment, I made my way in. I hadn't gone far when a voice stopped me.

"You're going the wrong way, Wood Elf."

I paused in my step, and looked to my right to see a weary, middle-aged Redguard staring solemnly at me.

"You don't want to go that way," he said, noting my direction. "There's nothing left, just like Hirtel said."

"Hirtel's the Altmer?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't matter. I need to find somebody."

The Redguard sighed.

"Right now, we all need to find somebody," he said. He gestured at the camp. "Late at night, while we were all asleep, a door to Oblivion opened. Daedra came out and set fire to the town. Many people died, but some got out alive. As far as I know, this is everyone. It's a pretty pathetic slice of what used to be Kvatch's population."

"Did an Imperial named Martin make it out with you?" I asked. The Redguard frowned.

"If you mean the priest," he answered slowly, "I don't think he made it out of the city. Very few of us did." Unease crept into my heart at his words, but I forced it down and ignored it. "Savlian Matius may know more. He's in charge of the city guard that's defending the camp."

I nodded.

"Where can I find him?"

"He'll be at the barricade at the top of the road. He's still trying to hold what's left of the Guard together." I didn't like that statement. My skills often outmatched those who served in the city guard, but that did not mean they were helpless civilians by any means. To hear that it was down to remnants...

"Thank you," I said, and I stepped away. As I moved through the tiny tents I kept an eye out for any potential Martins just in case the Redguard was wrong, but there wasn't a single Imperial male of the appropriate age in the entire camp. I pressed onward.

Although a storm had been brewing when I arrived, as I climbed up from the camp, I began to realize that it wasn't a storm of any natural make. Lightning danced with sudden frequency across the dark, unnatural red sky, and thunder rumbled in its wake. I tried not to think about implications of such a sky. _It's possible the Dragonfires protected us from a threat only the emperor could perceive._ As I neared the top of the trail and the city, the sound of steel and magicka filled the air, and I hastened forward, drawing my bow. I rounded the last corner, and was met with a scene I'd never before imagined in my wildest nightmares.

A gate to Oblivion, a great, seething, fiery portal to the immortal world, waited beyond the wooden barricade the Guard had erected, and from its hungry maw a wave of daedra poured. I stared, overwhelmed by the sheer terrifying awesomeness of it all. The nearest soldier, bareheaded but for a bandana wound about his forehead, saw me.

"Stand back, civilian! This is no place for you," he shouted, breaking me from my enthrallment. "Get back to the encampment at once!" He didn't have a chance to say more, as he was abruptly engaged by a hissing, spitting creature that vaulted over the barricade that had been put up. I drew and arrow and buried it in the creature's neck, and then into the chest of the next one about to vault over. The soldier turned and slew another one about to flank another of the guard, and then bashed in the face of yet another about to mount the barricade. I turned my bow to those beyond the barricade, and slew two more before they reached him. The other soldiers swarmed around a small, hunched, scaly-hided creature with a bony frill covering its neck beyond the barricade. It charged a soldier and threw him six feet with a head butt before it was overwhelmed. One of the soldiers went to the downed one and helped him rise and limp back behind the barricade. The others filed back, a pair of them guarding their retreat, and resumed their defensive positions. I jogged over.

"What happened here?" I shouted as I approached. The bareheaded soldier turned and scowled at me.

"We lost the damned city, that's what happened!" he answered. The disgust and rage in his voice was clearly audible, although it didn't seem to be directed at anyone or anything in particular. "It was too much, too fast," he said, looking over at the city. "We were overwhelmed – couldn't even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there. Some made it into the Chapel, but others were just run down in the streets. The Count and his men are still holed up in the castle, and now we can't even get back into the city to help them with that damned Oblivion gate blocking the way!" He threw his arm out at the Oblivion gate, snorting in disgust.

"So what's your plan?" I asked, keeping an eye on the fiery Oblivion gate. I didn't like fire that wasn't controlled by me. Not since... well, it didn't matter. It was in my way, and damned if I was going to let it stop me from getting to Martin, should he still be alive in the city. As immodest as I liked to act about my martial skills, I didn't think I could handle whatever was in the city _and_ what was likely to come out of the Oblivion gate. A look of fierce determination grew on the soldier's face at my question.

"Our plan? To do the only thing we can do," he replied. "We'll try to hold our ground, that's what. If we can't hold this barricade, those beasts could march right down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left. It's all I can do now."

I nodded in grim approval.

"I'm looking for a man named Savlian Matius," I told him. "Do you know where he is?"

He drew himself up.

"I am Savlian Matius. What do you want?"

"I need to know if an Imperial named Martin escaped the city." I didn't think it likely, but I had to check. He frowned.

"Martin? You mean the priest? Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped there with the rest of them, safe for the moment at least. If he's not…" He trailed off, and I tried not to think about the alternative. Tamriel, not just Kvatch, was in for the fight of its life if he was dead.

"Scamps!" an Altmer guard shouted, alerting us, and we turned to see another wave of the hissing daedra appear from out of the gate.

It was a quick battle, fortunately. The scamps were swift, but didn't have the hardiness of the atronochs and dremora I'd seen conjurors summon before. We stood, catching our breath, after we defeated the wave, watching the gate.

"They're probably just sending scamps to keep us occupied while they comb the city for survivors," said the Altmer who'd shouted out the attack. He clutched a wounded arm, and I motioned him to me, reaching to place a hand on the wound and channel through it what healing magicka I knew. "They know we're too few to need anything more."

"Don't talk like that, Merandil," Savlian replied. He sheathed his sword and turned to me. "And you," he said to me. "You'd best get back to the encampment. There's no telling when more of them will come out of that infernal Oblivion gate."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't want my help?" I asked dryly. His eyes widened in surprise. The incredulity on his face was almost amusing.

"You want to help? You're kidding, right?"

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, and gave Merandil the good-to-go, retrieving my hand.

"I have to find the priest," I said. "I may be good with a bow, but taking on the whole of Oblivion seems just a _touch_ beyond my abilities." I flashed smile and then sobered. "Those daedra will keep pouring out if the Gate remains open, and I can't chance his death to a threat I can destroy. If you say closing the Gate is possible, then that's what I will do." I spoke bravely, but it would have been a lie to say that part of me wasn't terrified at the thought of entering the conflagration that was the Oblivion gate. Savlian Matius was quite for a moment, thinking. Presently he met my gaze.

"If you're serious, maybe I can put you to use," he said. "But this is most likely a one way trip. Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"I'll do whatever I can," I assured him. He looked thoughtful again.

"I don't know how to close the Gate," he said. "But it must be possible because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial siege." He gestured at the ground beyond the barricade with a mailed hand. "You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle. I sent men into the Gate to see if they could find a way to shut it – they haven't come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is 'good luck'. If you make it back alive, we'll be waiting for you." I nodded again, letting my breath out through my nose in a sigh as I gave myself a quick, motivational, internal speech before turning to face the Oblivion gate. Behind me, I heard Savlian shift his weight. "It's a brave thing you're doing," he said quietly, and I glanced back over my shoulder with a wry smile.

"Just don't die before I get back," I said, and he responded with a grim smile. I faced the Oblivion Gate once more, and with slow steps I approached it, caution and wariness taut in my every limb. My bow was ready in my hand. As I neared, the heat of the flames washed over my face, and I unwilling flinched away from the fiery fingers that snapped and reached for me. Fire was the one thing I could never train myself to brave fearlessly. With a calming breath, I inched forward my trembling fingers and touched the roiling, red surface, snatching them back immediately. After ascertaining that the tips were indeed unburnt and that pain was not forthcoming, I reached forward again, letting my hand play for a moment in the red tongues of flame. When nothing I happened, I took a breath and I stepped through before I could have second thoughts. Fire flashed by my eyes, a roaring filled my ears, and a rushing feeling enveloped me. I felt like I was crossing miles in seconds. Then, suddenly, the ground was solid, and I almost sprawled forward on my face with the stillness of it. Catching myself, I looked around, disoriented, and swallowed uncomfortably.

It was hot. The air was sweltering, and if rocks could sweat I was sure that the reddish sentinels surrounding me would have been doing so. Beneath my feet a cracked, stone path lead a winding road around a corner hidden by a rock wall, and, ahead of me, in the distance, two tall, horned towers loomed against the red sky. There were human skulls spiked on slim poles several yards in front of me, and between them, a blackened, twisted corpse of some unrecognizable soldier. It reminded me of a body the Dark Brotherhood had left behind in an old, abandoned farmhouse. I banished the thought.

I had gone only a few steps when the sound of battle reached my ears, and, as I hastened around the corner, a lone soldier came into view, besieged by a pair of scamps. I rushed down to him, nocking an arrow as I did so. He mustn't have realized I was there at first, for he kept moving in my line of sight, but after the first scamp fell to my arrow he looked up, noted me, and refrained from getting in my way. Another scamp joined the first two after a moment, but was swiftly defeated. I jogged up to the soldier after all were dead.

"Thank the Nine!" he said as I neared. "I never thought I'd see another friendly face." Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, his hair was matted with blood and dirt, and his eyes flicked around, wide and unable to settle on any one spot for any reasonable period. He was utterly terrified, and looked like he had been so for some time. "The others," he continued, desperate and hopeless. "Taken… they were taken to the tower!"

"Calm down, guardsman," I said, putting up my bow and taking him by the shoulders. I forced him to look into my eyes, which was a feat, seeing as I was two hand spans shorter than he. "It's all right. What's going on?" He swallowed, and appraised the danger over each of my shoulders before answering.

"Captain Matius sent us in to try and close the gate. We were ambushed, trapped, and picked off. I managed to escape, but the others are strewn across that bridge." I remembered the blackened corpse and grimaced. "They took Menien off to the big tower. You've got to save him! I'm getting out of here!" Even through his armour, I felt him tense under my hands, and he seemed to lean toward the Oblivion gate leading to our world. If I pushed him, this man would break, I was sure. His sanity might have already been lost to the horrors of the daedric realm as it was.

"Fine," I said, withdrawing my hands. "Captain Matius needs your help."

Hope and disbelief coloured the soldier's expression.

"The Captain is still holding the barricade? I figured I was the last one alive." The relief that flooded through his face was palpable. A shaky, small smile even appeared on his lips. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll try to get out of here and let the Captain know what's going on." I nodded, and he sheathed his blade, moving past me with almost fanatical exuberance at his new-found half-freedom. I watched him go, stepping a little down the path to ensure I saw him exit. It would have been unbearably tragic if one the scamps got him now. He deserved the respite, or at least the opportunity to die in his own realm of existence. Poor sod.

As I turned back to the realm before me and readied my bow, I thought briefly on the idea of dying in my own country, in my own realm. I supposed technically I was from Valenwood, but so much of my life had been spent in Cyrodiil that it was more accurate to call me a citizen of that province than the other. Would I mind dying outside of Valenwood? Outside of Cyrodiil? A little maybe, but certainly much less than that soldier. I didn't have a family, didn't have a home, unless you counted the empty hall I rarely frequented or the ownerless beds present in every guildhall, and that was that. I pressed deeper into Oblivion.

I saw many daedra as I passed through the realm: scamps, the hunched creatures that had thrown the soldier several feet back at the gate, a large, two-legged, lumbering beast that looked somewhat like the alligators that sometimes swam in the waters near Leyawiin, and even a woman-like creature whose hips and legs were replaced by a bloated, black spider's body. I had no names for most of these daedra, but I avoided them surreptitiously, taking great pains to evade their detection. I didn't know their capabilities, but I had seen before what conjurers could summon out of Oblivion. Most of it could kill me if it took me by surprise. Yet despite this, I found myself slowly growing accustomed to the realm. After one got used to the smothering heat, the boiling, cracked stones, the thundering, red sky and the sentient plants, Oblivion wasn't really that bad of a place. The threat of the daedra – perhaps because they were confident no outsider would breach their defences – was present but avoidable, and, although the bodies strung up everywhere were gruesome, they couldn't hurt you. I had been trained to accept danger without qualm, to move within shadows and strike from secrecy, and I supposed my childhood only added to my conditioning. One wasn't raised in the Dark Brotherhood without carrying away some sort of scar or psychological defence against horrors and death.

I was close to the first tower, the door to it being just across a short expanse of open space.. I peered out from behind the rock where I was resting, searching for enemies and wishing I had water to ease my parched throat. Satisfied that the way was clear, I clutched my bow tighter and hoisted myself over the rock. I landed silently, and dashed across the space. Nothing attacked me. I pressed a hand against the red, daedric symbol on the door, and, despite the door's heavy look, it opened easily under my hand.

Inside, the tower was dark. The only source of light came from the fiery pillar that swirled about itself in the middle of the room. It looked to be made of the same material as the surface of the Oblivion Gate, and I wondered briefly if there was some connection there. Calling upon my magicka, I cast the simple detect life spell I knew and was rewarded by the purple glow of two scamps. As silently as I had ever done, I drew my bow and quickly fired two arrows in succession, killing them both with one strike each. After another quick glance about the room and ascertaining that it was empty, I made my way to the small, stone door to my left. I was about to exit when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I turned just in time to see lightning flash out of the darkness. It hit me in the chest and threw me against the door, arcing between my limbs and throughout my body as I screamed, muscles spasming. The magicka ran its course, and I collapsed to the ground, gathering myself just in time to throw myself to the side as a dremora appeared out of the gloom of the tower, crying a daedric battle cry and his mace descending to strike. It hit the ground to close for comfort, and I had to roll out of the way as he made a quick swing at my prone form. I came up on my knees, brought my bow up, drew an arrow, and shot the dremora in the stomach. It punched through his armour and he staggered from the force of it. I shot him in the throat while he recovered. He swayed, and then crumpled to the ground with a gurgle. I let out a breath and stood, wincing at the lingering pain from the dremora's spell, before moving to him and recovering my arrows. My swordsmanship might be pathetic, but Modryn had never criticized my talent for archery.

The room beyond the stone door led into a hallway that sloped up to the next level of the tower. There was a scamp and another dremora there, but, with the deep shadows prevalent in the tower, I was able to sneak by them with ease. The shock spell from my previous fight still ached in my bones. I didn't feel like trying to force my way through the tower. Beyond them was a door that led me to a spiralling walkway that circled the fiery column I'd seen on the first floor. My detect life spell revealed several creatures on the ramps above me, and I swallowed back my apprehension as I watched their purple forms slink across the floors. I was getting tired and beginning to understand why the soldier I'd met was such a wreck. There was no rest in Oblivion, no cessation of danger. Even I was more at home in the most treacherous of places in Tamriel. I climbed the walkway as high as it would take me, and entered the only door available.

It was another sloped hallway. The door at the end of it was locked. I tried to open it with one of my lockpicks, but the little tool turned to cinders as I inserted it into the lock and burnt my fingertips. I straightened, searching for another route, and found the only option to be a door situated on the other side of the room. It led outside, across a narrow, stone bridge ornamented by the red tipped spikes I saw everywhere in the realm. Through the entrance on the opposite side I entered into a smaller tower with the same walkway that curved around the edge of the building as I had seen in the first. I hiked up to the top, wary for danger, and was startled to hear a distinctly human voice.

"Hey, over here! In the cage! Over here!" I turned to see a bare-chested man in cruel looking, blood spattered cage. His knuckles were white against the bars. "Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" he said frantically as I approached. I began to search for a way to free him. "You must get to the top of the large tower," he told me. "The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry! The Keeper has the key – you must get the key!" I frowned as he spoke, unable to find any way to open the bars.

"Where is this keeper?" I asked, but I didn't need to.

"You should not be here, mortal," a daedric voice rasped at me. I whirled around to face the owner, a particularly large and unpleasant dremora equipped with a heavy mace and armour. I reached for my sword; my bow would do little for me in these close quarters. "Your blood is forfeit," he growled as I unsheathed it. "Your flesh, mine!"

"Look out!" the prisoner cried, and then the dremora was upon me. Our weapons crashed in a clang of steel. I struggled to fend off his superior weight and strength, but he was too powerful, and I ended up pinned against the cage, the life slowly crushing out of me. I tried to gasp out a few words to the prisoner – Menien, the man the first soldier had mentioned, I realized as stars burst before my eyes – but most of it was cut off as the dremora grinned and threw his weight against me. I think I heard something crack. I gasped. Menien must have heard what little I said, however, for he reached through the bars and grabbed my dagger, then sunk it deep into the unprotected flesh of the dremora's knee. The dremora reeled back, and, with a strength I thought had long failed me, I threw myself against him and pushed him over the edge of the railing. He gave a gurgling cry and flailed, catching me in the arm with his mace, and then tumbled down the centre of the tower, landing on the spiked platform several floors down with a sickening, squelching crunch. I hissed in pain and turned away, limping over to Menien.

The man was in a bad state. I collapsed by his cage, my pain ridden vision focusing on the shallow cut across the inside of three of his fingers. My dagger had been poisoned, as it often was. He must have cut himself with it when the dremora jerked back, and the antidote I usually carried had been destroyed in one of my previous battles. He met my eyes, and gave the faint laugh of one who can't quite believe he's dying.

"Look at me," I gasped, reaching through the bars to grab his arm. "Don't look around, look at me."

"Find the Sigil Stone," he murmured slowly through blueing lips, his gaze on mine. "If you take it they can't attack Kvatch anymore. Promise me." His eyes widened as he spoke – with pain or passion I could not tell. "Promise me!"

"I promise," I said as I watched the life drain from his face. He sighed, grimaced, and then lied still. Slowly I lifted my hand from his arm, and slowly I closed the unseeing eyes. I was still for a moment as the solemnity of the moment overtook me, and then I put my back to the cage with a groan of pain and set about healing my injuries. When that was finished, I rose and headed back down the ramp. I didn't look back at the body.


	5. The Siege of Kvatch

The dremora keeper’s corpse had been impaled in several places, and his mouth hung open as if still screaming. I searched the body apathetically, eventually turning up a heavy key of some black metal I’d never before seen outside Oblivion. I stood and returned the way I came.

            The key fit perfectly into the lock that had burnt my lockpick, and I entered the subsequent room quietly, avoiding the spikes that reached out to impale me as I climbed the sloped hallway to the next area. At the top there was a glowing, sparking portal hovering in the air, waiting to take me to some unknown place, and I stepped onto it after a moment of hesitation. It brought me up to a feebly locked door, which I opened easily after a moment of my lockpick’s time. Before I entered, I cast my detect life spell, revealing the forms of three – what I assumed to be – dremora. I put my back against the wall by the door and opened it cautiously, peering around the corner warily with my bow ready. The room inside appeared to be the top of the tower, and held a great, red, glowing half sphere set into the floor, through which the fiery column from below flowed. There was a set of jagged stairs on either side of the room leading up to a second level that ringed the room, and, at that level, suspended in the fiery column, was a large, stone-looking object. _The Sigil Stone?_ The two closest dremora were on the lower floor, where I was, muttering to each other in their own tongue and looking utterly bored. The third I couldn’t see, but from what my spell had revealed, I guessed it was on the upper level, perhaps guarding the stone suspended in fire.

            I took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the wall, into the doorway, my bow raised and ready. The dremora didn’t see me. I released my arrow. The dremora on the left toppled over, an arrow embedded in his skull, and the second – dressed as a mage without armour – had but a moment to straighten up and come to the alert before I feathered two arrows into his chest. The third dremora looked over the edge of the upper level’s balustrade, curious as to what had made the clanking sound that was the armoured dremora collapsing, and I raised my bow and shot an arrow at him, catching him in the throat just above the gorget of his armour. He staggered and fell back out of sight. I readied another arrow and nocked it, my eyes scanning for any movement, but there was none. Satisfied that the dremora had been dealt with, I put away my arrow and made my way up the stairs. There was a small outcropping of black stone leading out to the column of fire, and I cautiously stepped onto it, fighting back the fear that welled up inside me and the urge to stay far away from it. I lifted a hand and slowly moved it into the fire, ascertaining with trembling fingers that it was indeed of the same make as the Oblivion Gate, and of no harm to me. I steeled myself and grasped the stone. The world lurched. I nearly let go of it as I caught my balance, then righted myself and tore it out of the fire with a determined heave. A roar filled the air. The ground began to shake. I clutched the stone to my breast and stumbled back. The pillar collapsed upon itself, then exploded in a rush of noise and light. I threw me back against the wall, winding me. Chains snapped, stone cracked, and metal groaned. I tried to stand. Something dark was approaching me, but everything was growing so bright I couldn’t see. The rushing feeling I’d felt the first time I stepped through the Oblivion Gate began to fill me, but at the moment I was about to whisk away, I realized the darkness was the figure of a dremora. There was a distant roar, and then the cold, sharp sting of metal bit angrily through my armour and into the warm flesh of my side. I returned to Tamriel screaming.

            In my world, it was cold, and night, and raining. I collapsed to my hands and knees, clutching at my wounded side as I tried to think through the pain. The Sigil Stone slipped from my grasp. A spell, a spell. I needed a spell. What were the words? How did I gather the power?  I raised my watering eyes to see Savlian and the other soldiers rushing towards me.

            “I knew you could do it!” the captain cheered as he neared. “This is our chance to launch a counterattack!” He reached a hand under my arm to yank me up, and I shrieked in pain. “You’re wounded!” he cried, but I hurt too much to reply. It took all my willpower to keep my teeth firmly gritted as it was. There were some shouted words as I was lifted and carried back behind the barricade, and a few moments after I was settled there something cool and smooth was touched to my lips.

            “Drink,” Savlian's voice said roughly, and I did as best I could, although the liquid was bitter and I choked on it. Slowly then, the pain eased away to a dull throb, and I opened my eyes to see the faces of Savlian and the soldier I saved from Oblivion hovering over me.

            “Well done, Ilend,” the captain said, slapping the man on the back with a grim grin. “I think that saved her.” I coughed, wincing as the pain flared up momentarily, and groaned.

            “I think that dremora caught me just as I was leaving,” I said with a hiss as I tenderly touched my side. The skin was barely knit – I would have to be careful, and my leather cuirass would need repairing. I sorely wished for the equipment I’d left behind in the Imperial Prison Guard’s care.

            “You like to play it close, don’t you?” Savlian said, half-teasing, half-serious.

            “I’m alive, right? I kept our bargain.”

            “Thanks to Ilend, here,” he said, nodding his chin in the soldier's direction. “It was his potion that healed up that nasty hole in your side.” I slowed in my survey of my body, lifting my eyes to Ilend’s.

            “I suppose that means were even, then. A life for a life.”

            He nodded.

            “Did you… did you find Menien?” he asked. I lowered my gaze.

            “He’s dead,” I said as gently as I could. “The daedra had him – he died helping me.”

            “By the Nine,” Savlian swore, and Ilend turned away. I struggled to rise in the silence they kept, and looked over at the smoking heap that used to be the Oblivion Gate, my thoughts empty.

            “I need you to come with us,” Savlian said after a moment, his voice heavy with reluctance and need. “You’ve got far more combat experience than any of these men, and I need everything I can get.” I fixed him with my green eyed stare, but he didn’t falter. “If you need a moment, I can wait, but not for long,” he said. “We’ve got to move quickly before they have a chance to barricade the city gate.” In my heart I knew he was correct: I probably had more fighting experience than the entire remnants of the Guard grouped together, the Altmer with his long life included. And they were in a sorry state. I glanced back at the ruined Gate, and nodded.

            “I’m ready,” I said in a sombre voice. “Let’s go.” A feral grin grew on Savlian’s face at my words, and he drew his sword with great deliberation. He turned to his men, still smiling.

            “For Kvatch!” he bellowed.

            We drew our weapons and answered his cry, charging after him as he stormed the gate. The southern plaza where we entered was teeming with daedra, and I had not a moment to collect myself before I was in the fray. The soldier at my side fell almost instantly. I didn’t have time to see if he got up. My arrows flew without cease as I ducked and dodged claws, swords, fangs, and fire. By the time every last scamp, clanfear, and dremora had been ousted, we were all weak and panting, but fortunately had only lost one of our members. The wound in my side ached, but I ignored it. Savlian’s laughter rang out across the plaza.

            “We wiped the bastards out!” he roared, half to me, half to the others. He clapped Ilend on the shoulder and revelled in our victory for but a moment before sobering again. “It’s safe to pull those people out of the chapel now,” he said. “Let’s get in there and make sure they’re all right. Come on! This is only the beginning of the battle for Kvatch. We can discuss the next phase once the civilians are safe.” I nodded my assent along with the others, and then we headed for the ruined chapel.

            Inside, the chapel was dark and quiet, as most chapels were, but it held the unmistakable scent of fear and death. There were a few civilians scattered about, praying, tending wounded, or simply staring off disbelievingly, but it was a pathetically small gathering all and all. A pair of guards stood near the doors, and they half drew their swords as we entered, as if expecting a fight, but relaxed when they recognized us as allies. It was the apparent leader of these, a Redguard woman, to which Savlian headed.

            “Report, soldier,” he barked, and she stood tall to attention.

            “Sir, we’re all that’s left: Berich Inian, myself, and those civilians…” Her voice trailed off as I turned away. I had different quarry to find.

            I moved deeper into the chapel, my eyes resting briefly on the Altar of Akatosh at the far end, but no soothing words of comfort or wisdom greeted my heretic ears. A woman moved by my side, pacing slowly and aimlessly, and I called out softly to her.

            “Good woman, I’m looking for Brother Martin,” I said. “Could you point him out to me?”

            “Brother Martin?” she repeated in a strained voice, and for a moment I feared she would tell me he was dead. “Yes, he’s right over there. He led a group of us here during the confusion of the attack. We owe him our lives.” I was a little more impressed by the reiteration of this tale than the first time I’d heard it. I now understood, after all, a little better what the poor people of the city had faced.

            I followed the line of the woman’s arm as she pointed, and my eyes settled on the figure of an Imperial man kneeling at the side of a wounded soldier, his hands and face soft as he worked his magicka on him.

            “Thank you,” I said, and left the woman’s side. As I approached him from across the chapel, Martin paused in his work to wipe at his brow with a tattered sleeve. I realized then that he had probably been hard at work healing others this entire time, and my distant respect for him again rose. I came to a stop beside him, waiting until he was finished his work to address him. He rose, glancing at me as he did so, and I was instantly struck by his blue eyes. Blue like the emperor’s… like his father’s.

            “Do you need healing?” he asked in a weary voice I instantly liked. I shook my head.

            “No, I'm... looking for you, actually,” I said. “You are Martin, yes? The priest?”

            Martin sighed, a weary, frustrated, drawn out thing.

            “Yes, I’m a priest,” he replied. “Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having a little troubled understanding the gods right now.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over at the altar. “If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with it.” He returned his gaze to me. “Are you here to help us? We’ve been trapped here since the daedra overran the city.”

            “Savlian Matius and the rest of the Guard are here to help everyone get to safety, yes, but I have a different task,” I said. “You’re in great danger. You have to come with me.”

            His expression darkened.

            “Danger, you say? You came here to tell me this? The daedra are everywhere, of course there is danger! Explain yourself or leave me alone. There are many others here who actually need your help.” I was taken aback by his practical and cynical reply.

            “The only one who can help them is you, Martin. I'm just here to make sure you can do that.”

            He scoffed at my words.

            “If you came to me for help,” he said, “you're more of a fool than you look. Look around. What good is a priest?” I was a little offended by his remark, but reminded myself of what he was going through. It was already difficult enough for me, trying as I was not to think of the guild mates and friends that I'd lost to the daedra here, but for Martin, whose home this was, I could only just imagine his suffering.

            “It's not your being a priest that can help. It's your blood,” I told him. I glanced around uncomfortably. “Listen this isn't the place to tell you everything, but you must trust me. I was sent here by Jauffre, Grandmaster of the Blades. If you come with me, I can explain, and I promise your people will not be left to––”

            “There you are! We've done it!” Savlian exclaimed, interrupting me as he strode up and clapped me on the back. I winced as my side protested. “I can't believe it,” he continued. “I didn't really think this would work. Maybe we _do_ have a fighting chance!” The expression on my face must have been something to behold, for he smiled darkly and clapped me on the back again. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We’re not done, not even close. This was only the first step. If this city is to be ours again, we’ll need to get inside the castle. You’ve come this far with us. Will you go further? If we’re truly going to succeed, I’ll need much more of your help.”

            I clutched at my side as tears gathered in my eyes. All this back clapping hurt.

            “Savlian, I...” I glanced to where Martin had been, and realized he was gone. I quickly scanned the chapel and saw him disappearing out the southern door, the wounded soldier leaning on his shoulder, and let my breath out through my nose. The Oblivion Gate was closed; Martin would be safe at the encampment and able to help the wounded. He could remain here until Savlian was finished with me. After all, I’d grown fond of the captain and his soldiers in the short time I spent with them, and I owed it to Menien and my dead men to try and save the city. I faced Savlian again.

            “Whenever you need me,” I said, and he laughed.

            “I knew you’d be up to it!” he said. “Our goal is the castle gate. We should be able to use this door” – he gestured to the northernmost door of the chapel – “to get out to the plaza in front of the castle gatehouse. You know the drill. Stick close, and keep your eyes open.” He faced his men, who had formed up behind him. “Let’s move out.”

            It was a long and bloody battle to the castle gate. Men and daedra fell right and left. Some rose. Others didn’t. By the time we reached our objective, I was exhausted, and my wound was protesting furiously.

            “Dammit! This is no good!” Savlian pounded on the gate with a mailed fist, but the solid bars didn’t move. The other soldiers surrounded us, holding back the advancing daedra. “The gates are locked, and the only way to open them is from within the gatehouse.”

            “There must be some other way to get inside,” I shouted over the roar of battle and rain. It had begun to piss in the time that we were inside.

            “There’s the passage at the North Guard House,” he yelled back. “But that’s always kept locked. You're the fastest. Go back and find Berich Inian. He should in the Chapel, and should still have the key to the Guard House. Once you’ve got it, get to the Guard House, find the passage, and open the gate. We’ll get inside and secure it.”

            “Understood. I’ll go as fast as I can,” I replied, and then dashed off toward the chapel through a path Merandil and Ilend cut for me.

It took me longer than I liked to return to the Chapel, and I was bruised and bloodied by the time I pushed aside its heavy, wooden door. My spirits were lifted, however, by the sight of three Imperial soldiers entering opposite me. The leader, a big, burly, brown-eyed Imperial, stepped forward.

“We saw smoke from the Gold Road while out on patrol,” he said. “How can we help?”

I let my breath out in a whoosh, grateful to whatever deity or circumstance that had led these men here.

            “Follow me,” I said. “The daedra are thick out there – I’ll need help getting through to the Guard House.”

            The Imperial nodded.

“We’ll be right behind you,” he replied, and I glanced away to scan the room for Berich after gracing him with a thankful half-smile. Luckily for me, Berich – or who I assumed to be Berich, seeing as he was the only remaining soldier in the Chapel – was making his way to me. His one arm was in a sling.

                        “One moment,” I said to the Imperial legionnaire, and then I turned and met the Kvatch soldier halfway. “Berich Inian?” I asked. He nodded.

            “Do you bring new orders from Captain Matius? I’m itching for a chance to fight back!” His eyes flicked over to the wooden door, and he started when I spoke to him again, as if I had woken him from his thoughts.

            “Do you have the guard house key?”

He met my eyes with a questioning frown.

            “Yes, I have it. Why?”

            “I need it to get into the Guard House,” I replied. Behind me the Imperial Legionnaires waited patiently, each double checking equipment and speaking quietly about the situation. Berich sucked in his breath at my statement.

            “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “They managed to close the castle gates just before we were forced in here.” His expression sobered darkly. “I’m afraid you’re in for a rough time, friend. The city’s in bad shape, and it will be difficult to make it to the Guard House by yourself. I’d better go with you.”

            “You’re wounded and the Legionnaires are coming with me,” I said with a wave in their direction. “You needn’t put yourself in danger.”

            “You don’t know the way,” he argued, and I had to admit the truth of his words. “And you can use every blade you can get out there. My shield arm is gone, but I can still swing a sword. I’m coming with you.”

            I gestured to the Legionnaires, and they formed up behind me.

            “As you wish, Berich. Your courage is admirable.”

            The grim thinning of his lips into what might have been a smile on happier days was the only response to my compliment.

            “We’ll have to go through the Chapel Undercroft,” he explained, “and then through what’s left of the city.” He paused, lowering his eyes for a moment before continuing. “If… If I don’t make it, take the key and carry on without me. You need to reach the tower at the north wall of the city.”

I shook my head at his words, squarely meeting the eyes of him before glancing back and meeting those of the Imperial soldiers.

            “We’re going to make it,” I said forcefully, daring them with my glare to argue. Berich said nothing, looking grim, and then gave a bare nod and drew his sword.

            “This way,” he said, and then we descended the steps in the middle of the Chapel and made our way into the dark room beyond them.

            There were scamps inside, lurking between the pillars and hidden in ill-lit alcoves, but fortunately no one was hurt in the initial skirmishes. I briefly wondered why they hadn’t appeared in the Chapel proper to attack the civilians as we sped past the underground tombs, but there wasn’t time to think it through thoroughly. Berich took us through a side door, and then we were outside in the smoke and the ruin and the rain and the daedra. Fire exploded beside me, and one of the legion soldiers cried out. Berich held the point, slashing and stabbing as he raced from foe to foe, and I followed him, my armour spattered red with daedric blood.

            We came into what once had been a central courtyard area for Kvatch, now crawling with scamps. The legion archer formed up beside me, and they perished quickly under our keen eyes, Berich and the other two protecting us from the ones who managed to get close. I noticed then that the taller one, the leader, was limping a little. He waved away my offer to heal him, and Berich nodded.

            “We’ve got to keep moving,” he said, and so we pressed on. It wasn’t much farther to the North Guard House after that. We regrouped inside its burnt walls, Berich turning to us. “This is it. The entrance to the passage is right here.” He gestured at a manhole-like covering situated in the tower’s floor. A tarnished key appeared in his hand, and he knelt to unlock it. “If Captain Matius is waiting on you to get that gate raised, you’d better get moving,” he added as he straightened. He met my eyes evenly after a glance at the Legionnaires. “I’m going to head back and meet up with the rest of the troops. Best of luck.”

            “To you too,” I answered, and one of the Imperials behind murmured an assent. Berich ducked around us, and then we were alone. “Let me see your leg,” I commanded of the brown eyed Imperial. “You aren’t doing us any help walking around wounded like that.”

            He drew himself up.

            “You’re tired, Wood Elf,” he said. “Anyone can see it. Save your magicka for someone who’s dying – I’ll be fine for the time being.” I drew my lips into a thin line of displeasure, he was right. My spells were weak as it was; in my fatigued state I wasn’t even sure I _could_ heal him.

            “Fine,” I consented. “But if it worsens, tell me.” He tipped his head in accordance, and then we filed down through the opening.

            As I reached the bottom of the ladder built into the wall, heat washed over me. I turned my head to see fire greedily licking up the sides of broken shelving, and I flinched away while something deep inside me suppressed a stronger shudder. It had been some time since I had witnessed a horror like Kvatch, and it was all too easy to imagine the same fire eating up the bodies of the dead civilians and guardsmen. Beside me, the legionnaires formed up, the taller one managing with obvious pain. I said nothing. We had come to an agreement, after all.

            The passage ran straight, and, mercifully, was clear of any daedra. I hopped up the stone stairs at the end as lightly as my body would bear me, and found myself in a circular room. After taking a moment to look, I discovered a set of rungs fixed to the wall, leading up to an exit like the one we’d used to enter. I waited for the others, then began my ascent.

            We found ourselves outside, in the small passageway between the two portcullises that defended the castle. Savlian Matius and his men waited patiently, albeit with swords drawn, and I was relieved to see that no one else was missing from their party.

            “I found reinforcements!” I called out to him as I hurried passed. “Has Berich arrived yet?” He shook his head, but his reply was lost to me as I scaled the steps leading up to the gatehouse. I struggled to turn the winch mechanism until the other swordsman at my side stepped up to help. He turned it easily, and I realized then just how exhausted I was. I hoped with sudden ferocity that no more fatal injuries would appear among our ranks – I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they did.

            The gates rose quickly, and Savlian and his men pounded through the new opening, immediately engaging the daedra that poured forth from the other side. My legionnaires and I flew down to help them; arrows and battle cries reigned down from both sides. The fighting was furious. The worst part, however, was that we weren’t just fighting scamps.

            What we met in the streets must have just been the cleanup crew, for here our adversaries were thicker, stronger, and more powerful. A pair of clanfear rushed at me, and I succeeded in avoiding them only by chance. The guard behind me cried out as he was crushed by one's bony head against the outer castle walls. Fire flew and exploded all around us, guided by the sparking hands of flame atronochs, and one of the huge, leathery creatures I’d in Oblivion snapped at us with a mouthful of teeth and heavy claws. One soldier tried to engage it and was batted aside with ease. She lay, writhing in agony for a moment as she clutched her shattered arm. The legion archer behind me fired an arrow at it, and it lurched for him. Then Berich arrived.

            “For Kvatch!” he screamed, and he threw himself at the creature. I shouted at him to stay back, to wait for us, but he refused to listen, or didn’t hear me. I shot an arrow at the clanfear that had returned to finish its business with me, and suddenly there was a great, wailing screech that filled the air. I glanced back to see Berich with his sword in the monster’s ribs. The clanfear lunged at me and I shot another arrow at it, throwing it off balance momentarily just as a fireball exploded beside me. I threw up an arm to protect myself from the debris. There was a particularly loud human scream, and something heavy collided with me, throwing me to the ground. I was instantly drenched in something hot and wet.

            “Aah...” a voice moaned, and I realized that I had been hit with a person. I lifted myself to my elbows to find myself face to face with Berich. He had been ripped in half.

            “Berich,” I gasped, and then the clanfear from before was upon me. It hurled itself into my chest, picking me up off the ground and throwing me several feet before it descended upon me again, slashing at me with claws and snapping with its sharp, hooked beak. I kicked at its stomach; it squealed and backed away, giving me only a moment to draw my dagger before it leaped forward again, slashing with cruel claws. A faint whistle pervaded the air, and then an arrow thudded into the clanfear’s side. It screeched and staggered, then collapsed as another sunk into its neck.

            “The area is clear,” I heard Savlian shouting. “We’ve got to get inside and find the Count before it’s too late. Move out!” I briefly met the eyes of the Imperial archer who had saved me, but he headed out with the rest of them before I could thank him. I stood shakily, wincing at the ache in my ribs and the lightning pain that flashed through my injured side, and stumbled to Berich. His eyes stared sightlessly. I closed them and turned away.

            “All right, this is it!” Savlian roared as I entered the Great Hall after everyone. Another of those monstrous creatures that had killed Berich approached, its claws extended and teeth bared in a vicious grin. “We’ll hold this area,” he growled to me as I drew closer. “You’re the fastest, so you head to the back of the castle and find the Count. Don’t come back without him!” I nodded and drew my sword. The creature lunged, and with a collective cry the soldiers descended upon it. I took the chance to escape.

            It was eerie in the ruined castle. Furniture was broken and burning, and blood was everywhere. I startled a scamp that was feasting on a woman’s flesh, and another one later that appeared to be eating what had once been someone’s arm. After the clanfear, the scamps seemed easy prey, but I took no chances and slew them as quickly as I could.

The Count’s chambers were no better off than the rest of the castle. The chandelier had fallen and lay in a ruined heap near the entrance. Fire raged. I stepped around the burning furniture, nervous and my hopes failing as a spattered blood trail appeared beneath my feet. I stopped as I entered the bedroom. The Count was dead, lying half mangled by hid bed.

            With a sigh I sheathed my bow and bent down to the still body. It was cold, and, from the stiffness of its limbs, had been dead for some time now. I pried the signet ring off the Count’s lifeless hand. Savlian would want proof that his beloved leader was dead. He could then deal with the body as he saw fit.

            The trip back through the castle was uneventful, but the shattered look of hope of Savlian’s face as I entered the Great Hall alone was worse than the Count’s dead corpse. Behind him, Merandil and Ilend lowered their eyes as they tended to the bodies of their comrades. The monstrous creature lay dead in the corner.

            “Where is the Count?” Savlian croaked, his voice rough from shouting orders. “Why is he not with you?”  I licked my lips slowly, trying to decide how best to tell him. I settled on sympathetic honesty.

            “I’m sorry, Savlian. He didn’t make it.”

His eyes widened; shock and disbelief ran rampant through his face.

            “We… we were too late?”

He looked so broken that I reached forward to offer comfort, but then his face contorted in sudden rage and I stopped. “If only we’d gotten here sooner!” he shouted, kicking at a broken piece of furniture, and then, as suddenly as it had come, his fury vanished. He seemed to age before me. “This is indeed a dark day for all of us left,” he said in a low voice. “But I thank you for risking your own life to help us.”

            “It was all I could do,” I said, and he shook his head in disagreement.

            “Did you find the Count’s ring, by any chance?” he asked when I said nothing. I pulled forth the piece of jewellery and handed it to him. He took it, his face solemn. “At least this is safe,” he said. He lifted his eyes to mine again. “Thank you. I’ll make sure it is protected for the time when a new Count is crowned.” He put it in his pocket, and then proceeded to begin removing his chainmail hauberk.

            “What are you doing?” I asked, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. “There could still be daedra about.”

            “I don't care, and I want you to have this,” he answered, handing it to me. “I have no need for it. I’m tired of fighting. But it may serve you well in days to come, and it looks like you need it.” He nodded at my ruined cuirass.

            “Savlian, I can’t––” But I was stopped by the looks on Merandil and Ilend’s faces. They were weary, worn, and watched me numbly. Savlian, their leader, was trying to thank me, and I was refusing him. Their morale was low enough as it was.

I met Savlian’s eyes, and took the hauberk.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, and proceeded to exchange it with my cuirass. When I had finished, I straightened up. He nodded in grim approval.

“It fits well,” he remarked, and I dipped my head in thanks. He took the leather cuirass I’d removed and held it in bloodstained hands, shifting his weight uncomfortably. We were silent for a moment.

“My name is Sarasamacial,” I said finally, and a noiseless laugh escaped him.

“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t know your name.” He drew himself up. “Sarasamacial, the Hero of Kvatch,” he proclaimed, and his echoing voice seconded the call. It was my turn to shift uncomfortably, unsure as I was whether or not I deserved such praise. When his echo had faded, Savlian spoke again. “We never would have made it if you hadn’t closed that Oblivion Gate.” I started to protest, but he cut me off. “It's true, so don't bother denying it. They say Kvatch was rebuilt from ruins once before, and she’ll do it again. Thank you for giving us that chance.” I glanced from grim face to grim face, touched by the gratitude and unsure of how to accept it. I reached into my pouch and drew out a handful of gold coins – all that I’d brought with me from Chorrol.

“Here,” I said, taking one of his hands off the cuirass and pressing the coins into it. “To help rebuild. Think of it as my part.”

He frowned, confused.

“You won’t stay?” he asked. I shook my head.

“There were more than just good intentions in my reason for my coming here, Savlian. I’m glad that I helped Kvatch, but there are things that need my attention, things that may help stop whatever it is that’s happening to Tamriel. However,” I said with grave seriousness as I squarely met his eyes, “I will return when this is all over, and do what I can to help then.”

He nodded, accepting my words, and I released his hand.

“Take care, then,” he said, “and good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.” I smiled, briefly and weakly, and moved past him, nodding to Ilend and Merandil as I did so. With a heavy heart I pushed aside the weighty door and stepped out into the carnage of the outer courtyard. The Legion soldiers were there. At least, two of them were.

            The taller one – the leader – and the archer had survived. The swordsman who had helped me with the winch hadn’t. They had relieved him of his heavy Legion armour, and had him slung, limp, between them in an attempt to carry him out of the city. Their progress was hindered, however, by the taller’s growing limp.

            “Here, let me help,” I said, moving to take the leader’s place. He gratefully relinquished it, and followed us at his own slow pace. We made our way in silence, pausing only when one of us needed to rest our weary limbs. On one such pause, I studied the statue of Antus Pinder, but found no satisfaction in the knowledge that we had weathered our battle better than he, when Kvatch had first been razed to the ground.

            By the time we reached the outer gates of the city, the night was well on and the rain had stopped. I helped the archer hoist his comrade’s body onto the backs of one of their horses, and then helped him with his injured leader. When the archer himself was mounted, they turned to me.

            “What is your name, Wood Elf?” the brown-eyed leader asked, his face showing none of the pain he must be feeling.

            “Sarasamacial,” I replied. “And yours?”

            “Renegus Armillian,” he said with a slight nod. “You’re the one from the Fighter’s Guild, aren’t you? The one who dealt with the hist problem?”

            “Yes. That was me.”

He turned his horse, preparing to leave.

            “The Legion will not forget your work here,” he said. “Good luck.” The archer nodded to me as he passed, and I watched them disappear down the switchback trail, the blue cloth we’d found in the Chapel fluttering around the limp form of their comrade. I wondered briefly how many people had died this day.

A raven took flight from a tree behind me, and I started at the movement. My side shrieked. I winced and clutched the offending part, hissing at the sudden burst of pain. My injury hadn’t ceased complaining since the fighting began, but now that the adrenaline had faded from my veins and I had a moment to think, it raised its voice to a scream. I grit my teeth and called up my healing spell. The energy it drew from my limbs hurt almost more than my wound, but it faded peacefully as the ache in my side dulled by a degree. With a strengthening of my resolve, I set down the trail after the Legionnaires.

            The sun was just rising by the time I arrived in the encampment. My Imperial friends were nowhere to be seen, so I assumed that they had continued on. There were few people out, and those that were had huddled around a small campfire to the left of the road, speaking quietly in low voices. I stumbled on a loose rock as I watched them, and pitched forward with a cry. The ground kissed my cheek with its gravely lips and nuzzled the heels of my hands as I landed, and I lay there with a groan afterwards, too exhausted to care. It felt nice to just lay there, unmoving, although my side felt like it had been ripped in half, which, I realized dimly, wasn’t too far from the truth. Footsteps sounded in front of me, and I raised my head to wearily survey their source. An Argonian woman was making her way toward me. I struggled to lift myself.

            “Here, let me help,” she said in her rough voice as she knelt beside me. I winced and clutched a hand to my side as she took my arm, and she paused. “Do you need a healer?” she asked as her large, red eyes rested the wound hidden under my fingers and hauberk.

            “No,” I said with a gasp and a shake of my head. “I’ll be fine, I just, ah!” – I grit my teeth as the pain overwhelmed me for a moment – “need rest.” As far as I could tell her gaze was concerned, but she said nothing, choosing instead to accept my words and help me up. It took all of my willpower to hold back the whimpers my body wished to release, but I had a job to do.

            “I’m told you are the one who closed the Oblivion Gate,” she said as led me staggering toward the campfire. “I’m amazed. Thank you, on behalf of all Kvatch’s refugees.” Between the pain and her sincerity I didn’t know what to say. _Oh, it was my pleasure. Killing things is my job_ didn’t quite seem appropriate, and neither did _I was just doing it to get Martin_ , but it was all I could think of. Something at the back of my heart cringed away from her words, reminding me that I was wicked and cruel and didn’t deserve her gratitude, but I ignored it.

            “Thank you,” I said once the pain was under control. “Can you tell me where Martin the priest is?”

She nodded and settled me down on a log that served as a seat by the fire.

            “Here, have some,” she said, and she filled a wooden bowl with the stew that bubbled over the fire pit before handing it to me. “It’s the least we can do. You probably haven’t eaten in a while, have you?” The others around the fire looked over at me, some with recognition and awe, others blankly. The Redguard from before was there, I noticed.

            I reached for the stew with my free hand, my right hand, but stopped as the movement pulled at the stiff, healing skin of my side. I looked at her helplessly for a moment before gingerly lifting my left hand from its resting place and reached forward, trying to ignore the wave of pain that emanated from the spot. There was a gasp from the Argonian and the Nord woman beside me, and I looked down to see the side of my hauberk stained red from ribcage to hip. I met the Argonian’s eyes, and then I fainted.


End file.
